Time is infinite and finite. It also doesn’t exist. When I was five or six, my uncle, in his trademark wife beater and green factory pants, tried to teach me to tell time. “What time is it?” He’d point to the white round clock on the wall over the stove
Something to be Said
I once took Route 1 from Virginia to New Jersey by using a AAA atlas. This was around 2000 – way before Google Maps or the guiding voice of Siri. In my black Dodge Neon, I pulled over periodically to check the way, using my finger to follow the road
No sir. Nooooooo sir. I know you did not just park your bike in a parking space. Not your motorcycle. Not your scooter. Not your Vespa. Your bicycle. Two wheels. No motor. Of course, your parking job suggests you’re operating without a motor too . . . Maybe I’m overreacting.
In all the decades I’ve been getting a cable bill, I never read it. If I bothered to open it, I just glanced at the Total Amount Due and shredded it – after 18 weeks in the junk paper pile. When I started getting electronic bills and went on auto-debit,
Why do birds fly so low to the ground? Not all the time, just when they’re crossing the street – which is something they do strangely enough pretty regularly, even though they don’t have any feathery business doing so. Fly above the street. Around the street. But don’t cross it,