On a day like this one. Back in 1953. At 10pm. I made my appearance. Here I am in 2020, one of the worst years in at least a century, still going.
I’ve pretty much lost any sense of time. The calendar means very little. Clocks keep turning. The only sense of time that I seem to have is what occurs in nature.
Nature never slips up. She knows what she is doing. Even during the worst catastrophes, she knows. Fires, floods, hurricanes, and now a pandemic. She knows. She’s telling us. Mend your ways. Don’t make me come up there and destroy your home.
She will. Just to get rid of whatever annoys her. She doesn’t care. She seeks stasis.
Into the beginning of this current world I was born. In 1953. On today’s date. I guess that I have some sense of time. Or, Facebook told me. I could have sworn that I removed my birthday from my personal information. But, Facebook knows. So does Google. Ans, Amazon.
Anyway.
We could have a discussion of privacy. But, I don’t feel like it.
You know why.
Broken stuff city. I could be talking about New Orleans in general. But, I’m not. I’m not working that broadly.
I’m just talking about a truck that I saw loaded with broken bikes and parts.
It’s in my nature. I’m drawn to these things.
I let my inner self make this picture. Then, I tinkered with it.
WordPress helped by compressing it to the point where it has no highlights. I really wish all these digital companies would turn off the AI. You’d be amazed at some of the words I don’t type. That I fix when I edit the stories.
Anyway.
Enjoy the junk
Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Look after each other. Enjoy all the cake.
STORYTELLER 
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