Our brains retain at least a minimal level of activity every waking hour. Each of us would be amazed by a 24 hour print-out of the brain’s various references. I can only suppose that coherent thoughts make up a very small portion of the whole. Instead, the brain would flit like a bird, from this branch to that.
Midday I tried to recall the thoughts of the morning during chores and errands.
Enroute to the transfer station: more than 90% of what we discard each week is recyclable; what goes into the garbage is left over fish, peach pits, the bathroom paper and diapers, bacon grease, and unnamable yuck.
Enroute to the butcher: lots of empty buildings and vacant lots on Illinois Street south of 38th … hate to live here.
At the butchers when I see a pretty teenagaer: what’s the difference between a dirty old man and an admiring senior?
At the bagel shop: if we want the 10% discount, why must we tell them we’re seniors? Can’t they see it?
At the hospital ATM machine where one attendant, upon seeing a groundskeeper watering the flowers, says to the other attendant, “Looks like he is urinating!” I wonder whether the three are buddies or at different rungs of the status ladder at the hospital.
At the pharmacy, where an overweight, highly tatooed woman of about 55 or 60 years says to her male companion, “I’m very particlar how I smell.” That’s funny. That’s pathetic. That’s hilarious. Gross.
On pulling into our driveway: it’s just too hot to do anything more.