Sunday, April 1

you walk up the path with an air of purpose surrounding you and with a little bounce in your step. you are feeling 'good' for lack of a better word. the sun is shining, as it does, and birds are singing, if you call it singing, and the clouds are like wisps of gray fairy floss stretched across the sky. you wonder if gray fairy floss would taste the same as the pink variety, 'it's all sugar anyway' you think to yourself. a butterfly flutters out infront of you, it's wings beating to a rhythm you can't hear, but it makes you feel at ease imaging that even butterflies pursue a purpose. a soft breeze strokes your hair and tickles your face, it's warm but not too humid. a man on a bicycle passes you from behind, unaware of his own heavy panting over the music from his headphones he peddles onward. you pause for a second, there is a middle aged woman sitting on a bench, you examine her in the most un-stalkerish way possible. suddenly an abusive sound pierces through the tranquil park atmosphere. you jump, feeling the excitement pushing outward from your chest. the noise tears at your eardrums, but still you move forward, for we all have a purpose and you are not going to deny your own. you snatch it up in a desperate plea for survival and smash it on the ground. as you are running away, a playful grin teases the corners of your mouth, once again the world is saved from the destruction that is Mozart skewed into disgusting masses of beeps and bops.

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