This morning
The coffee sits on the counter, staring at me this morning. It’s early, and it’s already ground. Tempting. I should use the juicer, but I’m out of fruit. I could jump the fence into my neighbor’s yard and pick her ripe oranges that she just lets fall to the ground. Two trees worth of oranges rotting on the ground every day, and I watch them through the fence, and I try to work up the courage. But I just shrug my shoulders and walk away, thinking, they’re not mine.
Besides she has this dog with one protruding eye who smells and barks until my son yells, “No dog!”
Followed by the words, “Stupid dog,” muttered under his breath.
Now, I wonder where he gets that from?