Adirondacking
by Robert John Miller
Yesterday when the sun came up I went across the street to the neighbors' patio and lounged in one of their green plastic Adirondack chairs, which I admit now was a bit unusual of me, seeing how as I had never actually spoken to these particular neighbors -- always waved or bobbed our heads in mutual acknowledgement but we had never actually spoken that I can recall and certainly had never had a conversation -- and I was just there Adirondacking, not an uncommon pastime these days, hoping just to finally meet them when they got up because I always see them up in the mornings just across the street and when I woke up yesterday I thought, "Today's as good as any other, I'll finally go say hello to the neighbors." So that's my statement, ma'am. His wife and I only slept together after he had passed, only in mutual consolation; you know I'm a widower, right? Don't judge unless you've lost a spouse, unless you know exactly how it feels. And to be completely honest I have no idea how his body ended up in my kitchen.
- - -
Robert John Miller is from Indiana. His work has recently appeared AlienSkin Magazine and Writers' Bloc. He is nearly six feet tall, but it really depends who you ask. You can read more of his work at http://bobsoldout.com/work.
by Robert John Miller
Yesterday when the sun came up I went across the street to the neighbors' patio and lounged in one of their green plastic Adirondack chairs, which I admit now was a bit unusual of me, seeing how as I had never actually spoken to these particular neighbors -- always waved or bobbed our heads in mutual acknowledgement but we had never actually spoken that I can recall and certainly had never had a conversation -- and I was just there Adirondacking, not an uncommon pastime these days, hoping just to finally meet them when they got up because I always see them up in the mornings just across the street and when I woke up yesterday I thought, "Today's as good as any other, I'll finally go say hello to the neighbors." So that's my statement, ma'am. His wife and I only slept together after he had passed, only in mutual consolation; you know I'm a widower, right? Don't judge unless you've lost a spouse, unless you know exactly how it feels. And to be completely honest I have no idea how his body ended up in my kitchen.
- - -
Robert John Miller is from Indiana. His work has recently appeared AlienSkin Magazine and Writers' Bloc. He is nearly six feet tall, but it really depends who you ask. You can read more of his work at http://bobsoldout.com/work.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
You are hilarious.