Certain sounds evoke memories.
A small airplane flying overhead takes me to our house on Third Avenue. The sun shines, the sky blue with cottonball clouds. I lie in the shade, the ground soft and cool. I pull blades of grass and munch on the ends. Like an overgrown fly lazily drifting about, I hear the engine of a small plane.
Overnight I became the mean, soon not to be lean eating machine. I cannot seem to get enough.
I am pretty worthless right now, too.
Later, Dude.
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