I’m outside, grilling some dinner. There’s a trio of what I’ll go ahead and assume are reprobates hanging out on the corner maybe 50 yards or so from me. The reprobate-assumption is due less to a style of clothing and more to the surreptitious glances they send at everything. And also all the spitting. It’s always the hard-types who spit.
There’s also noise from down the street. Clanking and shattering and cold metal-on-metal sounds like something out of a Tom Waits song. I can’t even begin to guess.
Birds are atwitter, playful despite the relative cold. Across the street squirrels make noises that can only signify squirrles…but intensely. Like squirrels on the brink. Of what I don’t know.
The supposed reprobates cast glances at me as though I’m threatening them. In my hipsterish clothes and with tongs I’m somehow an affront.
An old couple walks by not quite holding hands.