Rambo's head is in my lap and I'm scratching him behind the ears. We're escaping the heat, the suffocating humidity. I haven't eaten and my head is pounding. I'm trying not to wander back into the mall to drink another yerba mate. I'm trying not to fall in love with sleeping head to toe on a couch too small for us.
I was a bad driver today. I'm not used to the afternoon flash floods of the Carolina's. When I returned home, with something to show for myself, no one was here. I wished out loud for my ten speed, and made myself a bowl of cereal, which I ate while fending of the scavenger cat, Moomoo. There are two puppies playing across the street. I feel overwhelmed with contentment, and beautiful in someone elses' clothing listening to two animals breathing.
I love them, or rather, this. The commodities have returned.
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