I wake up every morning, make tea and go outside to get the paper with my three dogs. A cat has joined us lately in our daily routine, but I think he's only pretending to be interested. Pausing at the curb I stand at the edge of my cul-de-sac with my mug in my hand. I can't help wondering how weird this suburban life is. The dogs and I point our noses into the wind and snort. The morning's potential withers into the afternoon and then into the night where I return to this spot, reoccurring in a dream.
How strange and queer that it's so natural to be this artificial.