PLOTTING LITTLE INFIDELS!

From my apartment mate's bedroom came the sounds of the stuffed creatures with whom she shares her bed; anarchists, eccentrics, and rabble rousers. I had been outside for the first smoke of the day, wandering around with my briar as the coffee coursed through my veins, admiring the handiwork (eh, machiniwork?) of the street cleaning behemoth which does this side of the block on Mondays, and dodging the tyke on a scooter.

The stuffed creatures were disputing whose money it was.
Apparently one of them is a little opportunist.
Which doesn't surprise me at all.
Animals.


It's not the heat, it's the humidity. There is moisture in the air outside, and there are vehicles rumbling through the vapours. Muni buses, garbage scows, street cleaners, and driverless taxis. Only the last deviate from set paths. Independent thinkers.

From somewhere the smell of a fine aged Virginia cuts through the urban funk, cheering the nose of people lucky enough to notice. Oh wait, that's me.

Everyone else smells dirty cement and asfalt.

In the teevee room where the computers are a turkey vulture was sitting in the other chair, clutching two hundred dollars for pottery or porcelain and my wallet. "It's mine, I found it!"

Yeah, that ain't gonna work, little guy.

Opportunist, anarchist.


He looks happy and confident. The big person will not triumph over his cleverness.
He is certain he will succeed. It will be a good day.
He has plans!



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