“I need to do something rash,” he thought to himself. When had that ever been a good idea? He crushed his cigarette underfoot and stared across Wilson Avenue at a tree whose leaves the autumn had gradually been turning yellow. “What would that tree say to me?” Just be. So simple yet so…
He’d been thinking about giving up music for about a month now. The beat-up blue mailbox across Kedzie suspected this. He looked up at his traffic light neighbor of a decade or more and said “Oh man! They’ve finally gotten to him!”
“What?” said the traffic light. “Those idiots? Those jealous fiends? They’ve been knocking him around for years. He’ll bounce back. He always does. Hang on.” With a quiet chunk, the light turned from red to green.
“I love it when you do that,” the mailbox said to the traffic light.
