2 a.m. Bullet

I've changed.   I've learned to be hard; harder than I would have ever imagined.  I suppose it's the sign of the times?  Folks are crazy and doing crazy shit.  Homelessness is rampant without any real solution.  Racial tensions.  Protests.  Riots.  Lost souls who've created their own alternate realities complete with conspiracy theories.  And of course:  The Virus.   I'm not sure if my unconcern about my fellow man is permanent but for now, it's MY reality!  It's  all about surviving through all the crazy.   There's a thick, impenetrable bubble around me to keep the world's troubles at bay.  I only drop my guard around friends and family.  They are my comfort in disquieting times. I know I'm not the only one.  

Just Because... The old man pushed his ice cream cart in Avoutrie Park.  As the season changed, many of the children who bought treats from him have returned to school and have abandoned the park to his new customers; women with strollers.  They walked by in tight-fitting slacks and shirts which cling to their burgeoning  bosoms.  He coyly watched as they passed and observed every jingle held in their femininity. A threatening thunderclap and lightning flash had him seek shelter beneath a large maple.  The ensuing downpour formed rivers which flowed to the gutters alongside the concrete walkway.  He listens with intent at the sound of the rains entering the sewer and then readjusted his sagging pants and pulled them just under his bulging beer belly.  He lifted his shirt and scratched the damp, rashy area where his skin flap rested over his belt buckle.  He wife refused to let out the pants, insisting he "get his fat ass off the couch."  He h...