Love is a Search Result

She’s genuinely using the bathroom, probably reading through some magazine about fashion in the modern era and deciding whether or not she’ll wear contacts since we’re going to a smoky bar at some point in the day. She does look so good in contacts, though. I’m wearing my old glasses, even though I’ve recently purchased new ones and moved myself into the world of bioenhancements by having a pair of contacts fitted to my own eye. Astigmatism.

Two birds are, apparently, trying out for Squirrel Hill Idol: Bird Edition, chirping their good times away in an effort to prove who might claim the breastiest Miss Robin. Even while nature peruses over itself and the trees, green as the want, mingle with the sky, cloudy, quite certainly, but blue nonetheless.

I mention that 12:34 is my favorite time, the longest secession of counted numbers that can occur in time, and she returns with “What about 23:45?”

I realize that, even though as stalwart and dedicated Americans we invented Military Time, it’s only the foreigners who would dare use it so flagrantly. And thus, retort:

“Sure if you consider your Militant Time to be appropriate on such an easy going Saturday morning.”

Up Next: Moments of Insignificant Bliss