Sunday
There is a ball of slashed and decapitated bamboo grove parts outside our house. It's as if a god got bored last night and just started grabbing random clumps of trees and crushing them into compact balls to place in front of innocent houses. My sister and mother are watching Friends and I can hear Jennifer Aniston screaming "Seven!" repeatedly for some unfathomable reason. Sundays, a regular in-between day when you're just waiting for the coming week to crash upon you like impending doom.