A Sunday Night

I have long since pulled up to Loblolly's and gotten my double scoop of honey lavender.

An old couple came in just behind me with their dog. It was one of those short poodles, the small ones. I caught her looking at me as I was checking out as if to say, "Who are you?" The way a child does.

I greeted her kind but she must have mistaken my greeting for that of the continued conversation to the cashier about my day. She simple looked on as if something else caught her attention, the way a child would.

After finding the spot I'd been eyeing inside to be occupied, I made my way outside.

So here I sat, consuming bits of ice cream. A gentleman dressed in an orange hoodie and black joggers with nice tennis shoes came up to me giving me a story, naming his wife whom he left at a gas station and himself who are in need of only a dollar and some odd change to get home.

Before I came to sit on my birch this man had stopped an older gentleman who walked out of the Creamery shortly before I came to sit.

Behind him, in the distance the same older gentleman turned me and motioned to me not to fall for his tricks. His plea was an obviously righteously one as I saw through the man's tale.

After my denial of funds the man moved on, so I sat with my thoughts and my suspicions of the activity around me.

The older couple soon made made exit, the little dog trotted alongside it's caretaker on a leash. The wife made her entry from the passenger side door upon her husband's opening and then the pup hopped in, why it could have been full grown, I'm not sure. Isn't it funny how we often mistake small dogs for a puppy? I mean most often than not they are, aren't they?

The husband shut the door and walked around to get in. It wasn't until I heard the door shut that awe struck me at the chivalrous notion of his that I'm sure came from a different time period. I wondered before I started writing if this would be a short about chivalry and how it's dead, but it isn't. Intead it's just me recounting my night.

Not to far off stands a group of people 4-5, maybe 6-7 years my superior, I am sure they're drunk. As they came out, the woman, only one of the group of 5 predominantly men said, "I know she's like, 'Helll, why'd they come out here. She was just like..." I'm sure she made a gesture of sorts or not, who cares? I continue to write.

The men who first made their exit laughed and commented, "Why does she look like someone we know? For a moment I wondered if I should take offense to such comment, it's no wonder I almost forgot it. They soon moved away, further down the walk way as if not to disturb me, nd have since the exit of the third couple walked away.

Here I sit admiring the quiet and soft light of Loblolly.

Here I sit on a November night after a long day if work. (Yes I work on Sunday sometimes).

Here I sit writing for me and just me for only thoughts have to touch this pen.

Here I sit happy and in tranquility because what joy it is to be alive.

Here I sit thinking of the older couple, the group, looking up at the Simmons Bank that sits off somewhere downtown for all to see because it surely scrapes the sky.

Here I sit in the night enjoying it for what it is.

Here I sit.