As I looked out the bedroom window, the sky continued to darken. Best not to look too long--I'd read somewhere that staring at Nothingness could be hazardous to one's health. Come on--really?
Did I stutter?
Every day, I think about my zebra. Fastidious. Gallant. He is a physical specimen, he is my Zorro.
I gathered my smooth head back from the pane of glass and I looked at my dog, Lou, who looked back at me, unflinchingly. "Just gimme a second, dude," I said.
Kudos to Lou--he gave me a second and many more.
Listen: I live in Clawson, Michigan, and I know, on one level, that zebras are not common fauna. My Zorro is real, and if you backtalk, we'll have to have a palaver. Naw, yes, naw, yes.
Open your mind, if you will, and accept the possibility of a zebra in a northern United States state. Personally, I look at my Zorro and I see nothing--not a gosh-damned thing--amiss. Queer, isn't it, how one man's internal skill set differs from another's? Really, I'm preaching to the choir, here.
*Sighs.*
Today, nobody bothered me about my zebra, for which I am eternally grateful. Understand that I never wanted Zorro as a pet.
Vicious, isn't it, the depths to which one will sink to maintain the wool over one's eyes? "Wow," I said to my reflection.
Xerox this into your brain, Dear-Reader: Life is what you make of it.
Yes.
Zorro approved and Jesus wept and then we all ran around the mulberry bush, panting throughout.
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4 comments:
That was great Adam...good work ;0)So very clever are you.
eyem as clever as a heart attack, little melissa, but thanks. =)(=
I bow down to your wit.
Life is what you make of it....remember that dear writer :)
okay Nighthawk. i will. smi-zooch.
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