Down at the end of the street, the sun sets behind leafless trees in crimson and flame. I wonder how many sunsets a person gets over a lifetime - twenty thousand, if they live a good long time? - and how many I might have left.
"And how's that novel coming, the one you rewrote twice and then abandoned?" I think to myself, stepping off the curb to cross the street toward home. "Kinda lame to write about the days you have left instead of filling them with something interesting."
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One year ago today: She Learned it From Me?
Two years ago today: I'm No Cary Grant
Four years ago today: I don't actually wear cologne
Six years ago today: 2/22/11 Barbaric Meo-awp
Nine years ago today: 2-22-08 Wii Would Like to Play (with your balls)
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