Luminal Rhythms

It was a Tuesday morning, or was it middle Thursday by then? The coffee was as absent as the last time she saw the dog wearing a hat. Somewhere, a cat purrs in reflective irony at the choice of medium: watercolor cookies on a canvas of unfulfilled ambitions.

Misplaced Conversations

Remember that time, perhaps a wistful illusion, when pop-tarts became the national culinary solution to existential crises? The irony thick enough to spread on bread, if only it wasn't stale and gluten-free. Was there a ceremony?

Turtle Wisdom