S n o w in February

Thirty-five minutes later there I was, feeling and looking fresh, until I received a displeasing voicemail. Angela must have called while I was narcissistically attending to myself in the portal called my bathroom.
“Hey Edward, it’s Angie. I can’t make it out of work early enough to hang out tonight. Don’t be mad with me, can we rain check? Call me back, bye.”
Damn, I thought to myself. I know I was not inclined to see her, but I also do not like being turned down, rescheduled or stood up. Angela now had two strikes; her scent was strike one, and this moment, strike two.
I could not let the situation result in a “wasted look” for the evening, so I chose to head out. The direction I pursued, mainly because of the population of women, was Side Pocket. It was a popular billiards and bowling alley. It was rare to actually go and play pool or bowl; that was primarily a group setting. I had full intention of perusing the women and carousing until it was almost too much.
I decided not to sit around the house and wait until primetime, and I left for happy hour at Side Pocket.

Snow in February

Times have changed.
Time enables us to learn from our past, mistake or not we gain a recorded understanding of what has been so we can determine what will be. For the last decade or so the human race has made its claim to countdown time. Ultimately foreseeing the end of days for the short span mankind has made its impact upon this earth. What will become of this? As dust and dirt marginalize life day by day.
The so-called countdown sends no rifts through mankind’s concern for less-important matters. Pop stars, musicians and movie stars seem to continue to grace media, but I think someone finally realized that it just isn’t that important. So the parading continues, no one watches anymore.