No one ever bothered with pink pavement. Roads were always gray or black, and the lines on the road were white or yellow. Eggs and gravel stirring together in a bowl. Cigarette butts and expectorated wads of pale orange sugar-free chewing gum. The road is a track, touring your cart through vistas of brown, dead grass and looming billboards.
On a rainy day like this one was, the traffic lights were mirrored by the wet road. Somehow this made everything appear more futuristic than it actually was.
Instead of buying presents at Christmas, we had to boil our dog. One day the internet stopped working and FBI agents came into my house and killed my mother and father and said we would all be sold into child slavery. School started. The summertime was my favorite time, with the smell of freshly cut mow grass. I like to mow the grass. I like to mow the grass. I like to mow the grass. I like to mow the grass. I like to mow the heads off the grass and smell the freshly cut grass smell. I like to rub dandelions on my big, BIG sister's elbows and nose. I like to be next to my dog at sunset time instead of behind my dead cousins, Lucy, Thrimble and Toatis.
