This morning may bring you rain. While you’re just leaving your door, it’s possible you’ll be drenched before you reach your first end to your second step. Within that last drop, which qualifies you to be considered drenched for certain, you’ll possibly not, or might, notice that you are, fully drenched. Either way, it was one drop, among all drops, that pushed your person to where you are drenched. If this is the case and you realize anything about it, you are abnormal and for that the drop thanks you.
Watch as I take the trash out. My slippers are beaten and beautiful. I came from a shack much like a house. I smile. The heads wobble and click as I walk; my appearance, it isn’t much. My gums mash side to side and my eyes water. But I walk to the dumpster anyway.
More of -M. Taggart’s Odd Walking Thoughts:
I don’t bother to fix inside out shirts. I let them be what they are until I put them on again. It doesn’t matter to me that they sit in a drawer inside out. Hell, they might even like the view. Then. Boom! One random day they are picked up, flung about and turned outside themselves where they can see the world walk by. I think it’d be a nice life to be an inside out shirt. But now I need to know where the best place is for a shirt to think.