Hello . . . this is Joe. Welcome to A Daily Drabble. Please add 100 words of prose or poetry as a comment on any date you want and in any order you want. Please reply on the drabbles you like. I'll moderate the comments at night, and they'll appear the next day. This is for everyone!
The engine whines as the wheels jostle, the high pitch echoes. He keeps his head low. Out of his periphery, he can see the streets are empty. Trash blows across the slate-gray streets, and even the birds are gone. Above, clouds scatter like islands under the azure of eternity. Power lines no longer in use band from eaves to eaves, out like a spiderweb over the city. He races against the sun, hoping to make it home by dark. A guitar waits for him, but it’s missing the D string. Still, he doesn’t care. He will play it all night.
ReplyDeleteA Vespa on cobblestones, yah, boring. Admittedly, many things do not need to be interesting; indeed, they would be worse off for it. No, not cobblestones—true-true; but anyways not asphalt or pavement. Actually, I just looked at the photo again and, frankly, I don’t know what the heck. I have no doubt rain fell a few minutes afterwards: moistened the scene as would a giraffe an acacia branch. Yes—rain rhymes with a giraffe’s tongue, with Prince as he accompanies someone as they drive through the outskirts of Kentucky. I believe in measuring closeness via distances: days, kilometers, languages.
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