To begin with, it looked kind of pretty, coming down though the late afternoon twilight. And then walking across the Walnut Street bridge, I was more than a little happy that I wasn't driving. But now? Now, it's going on four fresh inches. I'll be so happy when all this is over with. Here is the beginning of another story I came up with today:
On the way to work and on the way back, I pass one of those old-folks homes. Oh, I know it's bad form to call them that. They are assisted living facilities. That's the proper name. It sits at the intersection of a busy street, a white, L-shaped building with columns on the front. The grounds are immaculate as a Marine's haircut. A sign in front identifies it as Sheltering Pines. It sounds very peaceful there. Every few weeks or so there's a truck there, moving someone in or moving them out. Like today, there's a white truck backed up to a side entrance with its back doors open, a shiny metal ramp slanting to the ground. No movers in sight.
The guy in the car behind me sounds a get-moving beep. The car in the inner lane is already moving, having pulled ahead by half a length. I step on the gas and squeal the tires a bit, just for show. Everybody's in a hurry.
So there you have it. The beginning of yet another story. What I need, now, are some endings. Drive carefully, Barbara.
Bob
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