Write about: the beggar.
So Max hit 18 months today. Which means, for those of you not so great with math, that he is a year and a half now. Which means, for me, that time has been driving on the autobahn for the last couple of years and it is travelling like it needs to be somewhere right now so get the hell out of its way.
In other news, strawberry weeding and mulching continues to crawl toward completion. We're hoping to get a friend to come by Saturday morning to help with that, so as long as the weather agrees that will be great.
Hidden beneath rotting, tattered layers of clothing, my secret hopes and dreams wait. An upturned cap sits before me, collecting donations that will go toward their grand unveiling. Nickels, dimes, quarters - no offering is too small, no token is turned away.
Some walk past without lessening the weight in their pockets. Okay, most continue on with their busy, important days without seeming to notice my existence. That's fine. Once my desires are unleashed they won't be able to ignore me a moment longer.
Perhaps you, with your fancy suit and shiny shoes, will provide the final gift that will push my savings over that final hill. If so, I will remember you and be sure to thank you in my keynote address. The world will know what you are responsible for.
No? Fine, keep on walking. I will remember you for different reasons.
Another dollar in the hat, another step closer to the end of this miserable existence. I am nearly there now, I can smell it. It won't be long now.
No, my good people of this good city, it won't be long now.