my morning routine is i set my alarm for the time i WANT to get up. i usually get out of bed an hour to an hour and a half later. then i take daisy out for a pee and go back upstairs to make coffee. she patiently waits until i have a cup or two and then we go for a walk.

i’m at the “drinking coffee and blog-surfing” part of my day (a part i love). it’s quiet and the birds are chirping and my dog is sleeping on a knocked over painting of my sister’s. my cat is curled on my bed.

then yelling.

the word fuck sounds really weird at 7 in the morning, especially when it’s repeated over and over in anger. i looked outside my window to see what was going on – and there was a younger, heavier guy, in chains and an athletics jersey, bullying an older, darker, balding man.
i don’t know what set them (him) off. all i know is the younger guy was shepherding the older one towards a little blue nissan, using his bulk to push him where he wanted him to go.
“get in the f***ing car. go home. get in the f***ing car.”
i heard the voice of the older man, trying to talk to him, but the younger one wasn’t listening. he opened the car door and sat the older one inside of it and then started kicking at the car. the older man hurriedly shut his door.
the younger one was swearing and kicking the car…the motor started and the car drove away.

where i live, “home” in that sense could very well mean the brick house you live in on such-and-such street. most likely, though, it means the country someone believes you must have originated from.

i wonder how many other people were watching out their window, silently.
i’m sorry i was too scared to do anything.