It is raining softly outside my windows tonight. The only sound is that of the pitter patter of great drops of water off the eaves of my house. This house does not have any gutters and furrows have been carved out around the house in the lawn below from the relentless onslaught of water.
Maggie just sighed softly and is lying at my feet. She normally goes to bed around nine and will no doubt make her way to the bedroom soon to wait upon me.
George came by this afternoon and it was a most interesting encounter. He was quite animated during our discussion.
“Pookie told me she was pregnant and wanted me to start paying child support,” George said exasperated reeking of alcohol.
“I doubt a woman in her late forties is pregnant,” I replied. “That would be highly unusual.”
Still, it had George worried. Pookie just wants more money out of George. She is an irascible character and will say anything in the heat of the moment of one of their many arguments.
After George had left, I walked back down to the shopping center. The winter sun was hanging low on the horizon and dark clouds were rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico. You could smell the forthcoming rain upon the breeze. Rosa was nowhere to be seen, but Big S was perched upon his usual bench looking for the handouts of the more monetarily endowed shoppers than he. I avoided an encounter with him though. I didn’t want to get caught in another discussion about football and that is all Big S and the gang seem to be talking about these days with the impending Super Bowl on the way.
I decided upon the chicken wings restaurant on the corner of the shopping center. I walked in, placed my order, and sat down. Soon they called my number and my meal was ready. I quietly sat eating as I dipped each spicy hot chicken wing into cooling blue cheese dressing and carefully nibbled all the little bones free from their meat. The crunch of ice cold celery would resound after every bite followed by a drink of coca-cola. It was a messy affair and soon my fingers were covered in greasy buffalo wing sauce. I had ordered two dozen wings and could only eat a dozen and a half. Six remained and I closed the lid to my to-go box and carried them to Big S. I handed out the box as I walked by.
“Buffalo chicken wings,” I replied as I kept walking.
I could hear the box open and Big S begin to eat as I disappeared down the bend in the sidewalk to walk on home. It has been an uneventful day.