Talking Trash

The alarm clock brushed my teeth and then forced me to drink orange juice. As I looked out the window, a cement sky was pulling down the corners of my mouth. The newspaper on my front steps was wetter than a spitball. Trying to read it was like trying to page through baklava, just not as tasty. The coffee grinder handed me a bouquet and asked if I would like some help with the corners of my mouth. I cradled the steaming mug so I could feel the rays of sunshine in my hands. As I headed out, the wind surprised me by throwing the door open and kissing me. Her lips were cold, but her breath was very fresh. I was mad at first, but must admit, it did feel good. When I got to work, the building was talking trash to me, and I talked trash right back, reminding him that I was close to retirement. That shut him up! I paused and then tightly grinned, knowing full well that someday I will miss them all.