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Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. My brain is full of worms.
I was crossing the street one day on a normal day, I normally cross the street on normal days; crossing the street is a normal thing for me to do. It is impossible to know what I was listening to that day, although I'd wager to guess it was something loud, however the focus isn't on the ears. Focus on the environment. When you cross a street the focus is on everything but yourself, every nook is engrained, wrought within you. Every nook is thought about before yourself. Is that crack in the road registered? Register every crack. There are too many vehicles. This was a peaceful place, a peaceful neighborhood I would walk through 5/7 days in the afternoons. There are too many cars. Cars are rude; cars always intrude in my mind. I'm always thinking about cars, yet I know nothing about them. Would it help to know the make and model, and not just that it's a white truck that passes me every day despite the time? But this story, this car story is about me crossing the street. There was a convertible driving, and it honked at me despite my clearance. I proceeded to cross the street, but it honked before I crossed. That's all I wanted to say.
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Grinoldy Lifestyle