Not Every Day Is Perfect

Not Every Day is Perfect I took my pad to the park today. I wanted to find an idea for a book. I was blocked…you know… stuck. I walked outside, and looked up into the sky. The clouds threatened rain. I had no umbrella, but a man in a clown suit presented me one… immediately. I took it, and walked on. Down the brick paved golden street, and turned just to the right, the bus stop on ahead. The shuttle to Mars left five minute ago, so I hopped the train to Texas. We arrived early for lunch with the king. As I sat with his highness, I whipped out my pad intently... No! Still no ideas. I left from there as the flamingoes were dancing and getting out of hand. I decided to take a stagecoach to the florist shop as it would help my mood. The soup was chicken, with small white rice, shapes of animals and crackers. Still nothing to write about. The day was getting late. I had to go back home. A roller skate, a rickshaw and two hot air balloons… The darkness came early, on my sunshine day, But I am very happy, as my package arrived. I have new pencils, from far away. I will take them for a walk, instead of my pen. Tomorrow I will try again.