Stogie

I like the smoker code. I'm not a smoker, never have been, so I probably sound like a dip shit talking about whether or not they have a code, but from what I can see I'm pretty sure they do.

I just love how it's accepted, even welcomed with arms wide open, for fellow smokers to walk up to each other, having never met, and ask for a cigarette.

It's like they all this communal relationship, or their in some kind of gang. "Hey, I smoke, you smoke, let's share!" I give to you, then you give to someone else. They all get it. It's a wonderful pay it forward.

But it's funny, because we all need food, but there's no food gang. I wish I could go up to someone and say, "Hey, I eat food, you eat food! Can I have a bite of your sandwich?"

That just wouldn't fly, but you smokers have made it work. Ya share, and I like that.

I Wrote a Kid's Story

The Garden Song

The sun rose, the baby opened her eyes.

Mommy was there, stopping her cries.

She held her baby, touched her soft skin.

“Come child, outside we begin.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers…
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
Mother and daughter…
We play and we laugh…

Years past, the baby grew to a girl.

She went off to school, and out to the world.

But she always returned, where mommy would wait.

“Come child, outside till it’s late.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers …
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
Mother and daughter…
We play and we laugh…

Years past, the girl grew to a teen.

Wild and crazy like no one had seen!

But ever so often, away from her friends.

“Come child, let’s play once again.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers…
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
Mother and daughter…
We play and we laugh…

Years past, mommy’s girl was all grown.

She went off to college, and left her small home.

She met a man, they started a life.

They traveled the world, she soon was a wife.

But she always returned, whenever she could.

To visit her mother, like a good girl should.

“I miss our playing, I miss your face,”

“Come, mommy, to our special place.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers…
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
The family together…
We play and we laugh…

The End

Walking

A man and a woman were walking down the street, hand in hand. Another woman, much younger, walked in the opposite direction, and the man turned to stare at her young hips and thin legs vibrating down the street. When the man turned back around a pillar from a construction site hit him in the bridge of the nose.