Don’t even try talking to me before I’ve sucked down a couple of cups of coffee. Coffee must be sucked down while I’m out on the front porch, with a cheap cigar.
The sky is getting brighter and still more song birds heard, but not seen, throughout the neighborhood. To the east the first hint of the sun is breaking the horizon.
Overhead, nothing but blue skies.
To the west, a wall of dark gray clouds could be seen through the barren trees.
If I were a younger man I could conjure up images of change, a slight darkening in my life, maybe a woman left me, maybe I’m just hung over.
If I were an old man, older and gloomier than I already am, I could conjure up images of life passing, maybe relate the looming gray to the ever increasing number of friends and acquaintances dropping dead like flies, maybe go on about ailing bones and health and frustrating physical limitations.
But all I could come up with is… goddamn clouds, I wish they would make up their minds. I hate winter.