there was a sharp february sting in the air, but the setting
sun's piercing warmth evened it out.
bob walked the suburban sidewalk. he had a job to do: sell
cat stickers. it was a weird job for a grown man to do, but
the company was hiring anybody, and they pay $25 an hour!
the neighbourhoods were always rich. the houses were big and
had shiny cars, and the people wore clothes that fit.
bob knocked on each door, sold a cat sticker, and walked
away. the sun went down, and the snow-ridden street was only
lit by the tall, orange lamps. large pines were silhouetted
by the stars, and the spiderwebs on the large wooden houses
cast large shadows.
time stoot still for a fleeing moment, as bob's heart
skipped a beat. he did not see anything unusual though; he
was simply mezmerised by the beauty of the scene.
a stray cat brushed against bob's leg. bob stopped to pet
the cat. this is everything.
