Shelley and I - snapshots

Rivka and I - the truth

Providence

My request for loneliness, unlike other prayers that were delayed in transfer channels and by weary divine courier staff, like a letter containing an offer to donate, was swift to be read, and replied to, not leaving me with time enough to set aside promised resources and prepare myself for the huge deficit that I had offered to incur on account of having too much and not knowing what to do with it.
From incessant noise with A shouting over the din of the tele, Dog braking over the effort of A to be heard, and B barking back at the dog, I now find myself in deafening silences. I can hear air. I can hear stillness. And I am alone.

Prudence

Life is a bitch, especially when it takes advantage of your cynicism to prove that you are not the creator of your destiny and that it will take a dump at your expense leaving you to poop scoop its inevitability.

Cynical Sam, with the intent to make a mockery of the lotto, and destiny at that, spent a pound in Prudence’s name to buy the last ticket at Moe’s Malt. Prudence won the lottery. Prudence didn’t win much – just a couple thousand bucks. Prudence was Sam’s Dog.

Poop Scoop.