This piece is about a homeless man who desires a new whole pair of pants.
Looking up, Paul was meeting eyes with a Calvin Klein billboard model, a muscular jawline-centric man in bulgy underwear. Looking down, Paul’s filthy jeans had such a surplus of holes that it could not deter the icicle of a breeze to chillingly stroke his own ever-shrinking bulge, which was now crying vibrato in D minor. Life was just inequitable as he had an impressive supply of holes but absolutely no demand in wintertime, if it was summer he would surely be rich. Paul was to pretend that he had ‘the class’ to even wear such amazing capitalistic emergent bulge-amplifying property. As his heat-integrity system exposed its vulnerabilities once more (as a December gust passed by) he snapped into his “priorities”. The diminishing bulge was unsatisfactory but he tried to see the future in a positive light - like a carrot and/or dick on a stick if you will. The rudimentary “priorities” was to steal a pair of pants and a nice subsequent pair of bulgy underwear… Hmm, yes “priorities”. The park was the perfect place for a bum like Paul with the crow and squirrel acting as his gladiator spectators and the galvanizing billboard made his bulge clutch.
“I will follow you, bulge”, he thought and clenched. The spectators - the squirrel and crow - was also set to fabulously explode, the tension (in his crotch) was reaching the critical mass.
“You have no ideas how much I envy you, my spectators - you have no need for pants'', he telepathically communicated while imagining a brand of jeans designed for crows. The memory of class filled his gladiator spirit as he entered one of the rings. A pedestrian, aha! - surely a pretentious prick, with the pork pie hat and tiger stripe pants, he thought - but just about his own size. From the leafless bush Paul emerged with a modern dagger and the tiger stripe pants were within his laceration.
This piece is about a parrot who has an epiphany.
In an Arizonian pet store the green-blue-yellow macaw parrot Daiquiri resided as a consequence of the emergent illegal exotic bird trade. People walked by tapping on his cage expecting some sort of trick. Obedient to his macaw nature but without any true understanding Daiquiri responded with an imitation of a memory and the children and parents laughed as a response.
“I am nothing but a carrot in a cage”, he cawed and did the parrot-equivalent of scratching his head, wondering wherever that ability came from. Right next to his eyes was an exquisite pattern of what seemed like stripes of a white tiger and his gaze gave away a type of reptilian kind of stupidity. He never felt adequate enough of his appliance of the million-year evolutionary descent from the dinosaur and asked the question “am I merely an echo of an echo?” out loud. The parents assumed the question was rhetorical and superfluous but the children remained inquisitive - what if that actually was an original convergence of thought? Daiquiri realized he had conjured something special when looking at the children’s enthusiastic response of jumping in rings around the cage.
“Echo, echo!” with vigor from the children and the ‘Polo’ response to the children’s ‘Marco’ from Daiquiri. This was indeed the parrot-equivalent of a eureka moment and ‘ca-cawed’ unlike any macaw, crow or t-rex he ever heard before, Daiquiri was aboard ‘choo-choo’. Such joy we ought to bring home the parents agreed to and bought the macaw parrot Daiquiri who now resides happily due to the emergence of illegal exotic bird trade and ingenious convergence of parrot thoughts.