Among the niche

I felt tears trickling down. After so many years. All persevering truce is a magnificent allegory , measuring minuscule salt portions with a grandiose precaution. The immediate call will be the lasting diva: “When you are finally done, please surmise in return, your chapbook!” The transportation was arranged, and the vehicle showed up in the morning. The hospice arranged the transportation before. The chauffeur was not that talkative, precise only to the questions asked. Supplication is an effort here, even in uttering “Rabbana Hablana…” the accessories and the serendipity get involved in nerves and encyclopedic volume and diction , in a wild effort to tear everything apart, the risk management is such a “man-age-meant” portfolio. I was looking at the machine , the automated device. The loci is in tune with the locus. The orthodox locus is in a fix with the unorthodox worldbuilding, visioning together, altogether. Godly, God knows how to shun too. On the return trip, the passenger window had swiftly dispersed overlapping montages, urbane, luminaries and delineations with road marks, here and there. The nurse was simpering while seeing me off . “Are you a bachelor? Widow?” I was staring, bluntly. A root cause, even beyond a handle or shackle. “Many feel nostalgic, overwhelmed or fatigued while the mammogram is in. Mainly Freudian, “ In an effort to keep my cool, I reply, “By the will of God, my kids’ father is doing fine. We are on our own.” “Social, so shall, socialized.” April 2, 2024