gonna miss:3

– going from a stranger to a neighbor and gradually learning enough of the language to exchange greetings like neighbor to neighbor in the local language; seeing a neighbor while out and about, saying Hi Neighbor. Because there’s people out and about. Sure there’s lots of traffic, but plenty pedestrian activity too – oh yeah, gonna miss the cars parking on the sidewalks. Our next destination is to the land where people seem allergic to walking so they need lots of parking lots.

– gonna miss the verve that all but constantly flavors the atmosphere; and walking down the street and the people peddling melons. I envy them. I would give a nut to spend a summer hanging out on the street around here, with a pile of watermelons, watching the people walk by, watching the women, selling melons, drinking a few beers; watching storms come in; lightning lighting the towering apartment buildings, just like a ghost movie. Hell, I’d give a nut for any excuse to sell anything if I could spend the next few years just hanging out on the street, watching the people, watching the world, watching the women, getting a few whiffs…. I’d give up the poetry, the blogging, all writing aspirations. Damn straight.

– terasas. Oh the terasas, Gonna miss the terasas bad. They’re like the signs for the seasons. Fall comes and fall deepens and finally the last terasa umbrella folds up and winter begins. Winter finishes, spring enters, wait for the weather to warm, watch for umbrellas and tables; yeah the beers pack on the beer gut but that’s why winters come; hit the weights, sit ups, see how things go until the terasas open again, because there’s just no way to exist here without drinking beer at the terasas. Oh yeah and there’s a good chance of plenty of cleavage at many a terasa. Just like Redd Foxx said long ago, “nothing like drinking with a hard-on.”

 

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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