April 8, 2007 – Sunday

Cluck-cluck
Sitting on the bus, listening to people clucking like a barnyard full of chickens. That’s how we would sound to aliens if they ever came exploring. Cluck-cluck, b-gaw, b-gaw, and every so often a rooster among the hens adding in his two cents of cock-a-doodle doo. These are the strange things I think of riding the bus to my car.

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