Tilted Reality Mumblings (Try and enjoy it for the weirdness, not really much to actually get.)
I met my neighbor today. Well, he's not my neighbor yet, but he will be when I'm forty-two and have that burgundy four-door. He'll have two kids by then, one from a previous marriage; loud mouth little prick, always reminding his step-mother that his real mom wouldn't stand for what she wants to call discipline. I should really remind his dad to return
The meteorologist called for sleet and I still don't see any damned sleet. I walked to the fuel station and got a fountain soda; I counted six stray cats on the way back. One of them used to belong to a woman by the name of Jamila who moved back to Atlanta in July of last summer. The cat never liked to come to her, so it stayed behind to chart star patterns. Sometimes, when no one is out on the street, the cats meet in alleyways to gossip
I buried seven heads-up pennies underneath the yield sign on Union street last Wednesday, I believe it was. I'm still waiting on a reply, but Mr. Cuttlefish isn't known for his punctuality. No one is around here; it's bad for your health if everyone knows where and when you'll be. They say one of the neighbor kids found a piece of amber the size of a plum in a box of Rice Chex from the corner market.
Every umpteenth sidewalk slab has an "X" engraved in the top, right-hand corner. It signifies a meeting zone, and if you wait their long enough I can probably convince one of the silver men from the condemned apartment building to let me borrow their aural symphonizer so I can finally see what it's like to extract one while it is still alive and roily. It wont be too long of a wait, as the men are always brief with conversation and always seem to blink and breathe at the exact same time I do.