Why are Sunday’s strange?

Back in the day, when I was a kid, life was much more simple that it is nowadays, of course it’s a Sunday Morning as I sit in a local coffee-house, not far from life of “homeward bound – but, decent enough that it doesn’t kill me at heart to begin with.

I’ve been trying to think why the world is more dangerous today, than it was thirty or so years ago? As child you really didn’t think about those things, unless your parents went on the freakish lamb of running a hot dog stand into the wine cellar during the carnage of an EF-5 tornado running down the floorboards of the yellow brick road – “no, Dorothy, this isn’t Kansas to begin with.” At least “Toto” was barking righteously as the howling winds and the death-defying winds and more began to tear up the carnage of a carefully mowed front yard of vintage castle in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe, I’m frenzied into the world of worrisome and tricked out, that life’s only a dream? “Wake-up, Newton you’re a dreaming a cracker jack box with a sterling toy ring, asshole!!” No wonder, it’s still a soggy dream, but, I’m intrigued to find out what the world has in store before I wake up.

“Tea anyone?”


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