Spitball Army

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The announcer inside the clock radio perkily voiced, “I hope your Tuesday morning is going better than mine.” That woke me up.

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A playlist themed around Autumn in Alabama – much like a similar playlist for Autumn in Massachusetts – would be about serenity, changes (in the sports seasons, the weather and colors in nature), a new academic year, my favorite holiday (Thanksgiving), contemplation, and an awareness of the temporal state in which we exist.

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Each morning the old man tells me, “My daughter will be 50 in March. She lives with us…long story, let’s just call it a stroke.”

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Hardly vigilant, the lifeguard sang hymns to himself, loudly, out-of-tune, hands flailing. Poolside, I waited for him to levitate.

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Hoy en día se me dijo, en Inglés, que mi nivel de empleo sería bastante superior si hablaba español con fluidez.

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He’d agreed to sell the artwork to a chum for $400, but after a museum proposed 450, he deemed the relationship worth the balance.

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