Just another day in Paradise. . .
Picture it:
A beautiful early summer's day in Central Florida.
The sun, which would normally be baking human skin until it sloughs off, is tempered by a lusty breeze blowing from the West. The trees toss their branches, trailing lacy gray shawls of Spanish Moss, and the heavy flowering vines undulate like some beautiful but delicate sea dragons. Decorative bowers hung with honeysuckle are stirred, and their sweet perfume--so much more pure and natural than anything sold under the scent 'honeysuckle' could ever be--wafts in the air, filling your lungs, bringing a smile to your face and a lightness to your mood.
A tall, handsome man rides by on a slightly-rusted bicycle. He's transported by the the beauty of the day, by the scent of the flowers, by the joy of being alive. He nods, and you nod back before returning to whatever task you find yourself doing, made all the more pleasant by the day. The hiss of the man's tires slowly dims as he disappears down the block.
The branches are tossed again, the leaves' individual whispers multiply into a wall of sound.
As it crests and tapers, you hear something else.
--stupid goddamn wind and the goddamn bikeseat--
A small troll-like woman hoves into view, sweating from head to toe, her hair in unkempt fluffs around her head and her mascara pooled beneath her eyes. She's wobbling as though she hadn't been on a bicycle in decades.
--is hurting my ass and I can't BELIEVE it's this far to the goddamn Irish pub and I think I'm going to throw up in that man's hedge--
She wheels by, the air momentarily befouled with the sweaty miasma of onions and goats.
--ucking bullshit and I don't care about Al Gore or my carbon footprints and my ASS HURTS OH GOD--
She disappears.
And once again, it's a beautiful day.
A beautiful early summer's day in Central Florida.
The sun, which would normally be baking human skin until it sloughs off, is tempered by a lusty breeze blowing from the West. The trees toss their branches, trailing lacy gray shawls of Spanish Moss, and the heavy flowering vines undulate like some beautiful but delicate sea dragons. Decorative bowers hung with honeysuckle are stirred, and their sweet perfume--so much more pure and natural than anything sold under the scent 'honeysuckle' could ever be--wafts in the air, filling your lungs, bringing a smile to your face and a lightness to your mood.
A tall, handsome man rides by on a slightly-rusted bicycle. He's transported by the the beauty of the day, by the scent of the flowers, by the joy of being alive. He nods, and you nod back before returning to whatever task you find yourself doing, made all the more pleasant by the day. The hiss of the man's tires slowly dims as he disappears down the block.
The branches are tossed again, the leaves' individual whispers multiply into a wall of sound.
As it crests and tapers, you hear something else.
--stupid goddamn wind and the goddamn bikeseat--
A small troll-like woman hoves into view, sweating from head to toe, her hair in unkempt fluffs around her head and her mascara pooled beneath her eyes. She's wobbling as though she hadn't been on a bicycle in decades.
--is hurting my ass and I can't BELIEVE it's this far to the goddamn Irish pub and I think I'm going to throw up in that man's hedge--
She wheels by, the air momentarily befouled with the sweaty miasma of onions and goats.
--ucking bullshit and I don't care about Al Gore or my carbon footprints and my ASS HURTS OH GOD--
She disappears.
And once again, it's a beautiful day.