Friday, October 14, 2011

Chillin' with my bros



Another typical Saturday afternoon, chilling with the dudes at the laundromat.

[Rick Ross playing from a boombox at the feet of the peacock on the right]
Me: Nice socks.
One of the peacocks: They're blue; hens seem to dig blue.
Me: I guess they also dig stripes.
One of the peacocks: That's genetic. What's your problem?
Me: Whoa! Sorry, didn't mean to offend anyone. What are you guys doing here anyway? Do you actually have any laundry?
That same damn peacock: Wouldn't you like to know. Come on fellas, let's go. We don't want to get arrested by the laundromat police.
[As they strut away, the peacock on the right picks up the boombox with his beak]

The peacocks walked across the narrow parking lot and hop-flew over the chain-link fence landing just on the other side. The peacock with the boombox faced it back towards me. It was still playing Rick Ross' Hustlin' single, seemingly on a loop. The spokescock for the three stepped over to the boom box and pecked the volume button until it was at its max and then the three just stared at me with their violet throats and golden chests beaming in the early afternoon sun.