Well, how goes it?
I think I might be getting old—there’s a tree in my front garden that I despise. It’s home to a family of very loud birds. When they move out, it’s home to noisy cicadas. When it’s not a home, it emits red pollen that stains my white car. When the pollen gives out, the beastly tree drops heavy fruit that glues to the bonnet of my black…
