1 Paragraph Short Storyup to 1 paragraph short story
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It is no small miracle of a tree above my mind that transfers a belated night effect between sun ny patches that come through my everyday neighbourhood stroll. Plundering crow, urban bird, starving and despairing in a place where waste and road fatalities are all too uncommon, are fighting a shrinking squirrels populace in the hope of a dish of the mornings.
mingle in one of the many huge traffic circles with roses and mysterious, sinuous trails through mini-woods hidden in every nook and cranny of this town. Grinning at our reciprocal gratification with my clothes and their wish to perform only brief, pinpoint interaction that determines the standard of my beverage, my needs and my contentment, they keep me moving and me where I want to be, alone and in my mind, and watch teenager hoipsters and their slightly obese friends showing their haircuts and protruding waists.
Hipy pensioners in Moo Mous go together on their way to the end of the bus. Cats are the centre of attention, catlike and in the centre of a park, where regardless of whether an extravagant SUV is used to park an extravagant vehicle, all the eyes can concentrate on is their cheerful paws and their own paws lick, squats and willing to whirlp.
I' m still running, as nice as the view is, have little relationship with my cat or friends I'll probably never see again. She is enchanted, probably even before she has seen the thing, and all the maternal, friendly femininity there is in her begins with sweet little kitten tunes like "nee-yool nee-yool" and "t-chole t-chole", while her cheeks click, her chops a little purring and she sinks to the level of the beast, to gain his favour.
A few moments later they have become tight foreigners, if not new ones, and as she strokes the back of the cat's skull, she finds a knot. She' s asking the cat owners to detect the clot within 24hrs. There are a number of motorbikes, mostly older ones &em; fueled in the early 80s Hondas, which in my view are not particularly old-fashioned, but particularly classy &em; lining the road.
However, it is a hybrids, really not all motorcycles, but more than a roller, it seems to be entirely hand-made, from the mish-mash of rusty and shiny pieces of metal that make up the motor, to the dent in the mudguard that does not quite match the perfectly taped one.
It' one of the best machines I've ever seen, and possibly the fabric of legend, or at least their side kicks. One of the keywords in the world's best pack of chocolate sticks was sunshine and it mixes well for the first days of April. They took the melted red growth from the skies and had it poured over each of their foliage just before the drop.
She stared into the faraway, on whatever a migrating spirit was getting astray and the tree rushed easily, but did not dare to make a noise to rescue her serenity. Her red-brown dusting was pulled together by the setting of the sundown behind her fur, a quiet cascade of impatient, perfectly hung streaks, taking in the moment between the room and her gown, appropriately called after the light with which she today divided the colours that dripped over her and fell only a few centimetres over her knees, both bringing out her bowing, smiling, rocking hymns slightly over shining orange-coloured shy sidewalk...
One motor with labels containing "IMPEACH" and "One Earth, One Chance" and the like drew over a decade or more automobiles, each containing two dishes, each dish containing two or three kinds of sushi, or perhaps a kelp lettuce or a piece of waste. Fresh cheeses and alcocado rollers that fill the gaps between freshly boiled fresh smoked fish or freshly boiled soufflé.