A spliff in the park

Its spring here today. Its warm again. I sat under a tree in the park and smoked a spliff. The tree was covered in a cloud of pink flowers that rained petals and I wondered if trees could be gay and concluded that this one probably was, at least during the spring. I told a  jogger that she had the most amazing pink shoelaces I had ever seen. I wanted to tell her how badly she needed to invest in a good sports bra, but I didn’t and I am as ashamed of not saying that as I am proud. I wondered if the fact that I find mixed-race couples really cute made me a racist and concluded that it probably did. I saw 47 cleavages. I watched a juggler that couldn’t juggle and a painter that couldn’t paint, a woman walked past me that had a butt so cute, that I wanted to both juggle with it and paint it. I checked my phone and found that God had accepted my friend request and was also following my blog. I shared a cup of tea with a woman who smelled of cider and an ice cream with a duck that kept giving me funny looks and tried to bite me when I got up to leave.