Story prt.1

I would like to start a story here on my blog. I know that there are almost no readers of this blog, but if someone, on an off chance, does happen by my blog and reads the story I am going to try and write a piece of every week, then I hope they might make suggestions. Call it a choose your own adventure/story, in a sense (remember those books from when we were kids?) I have no idea where this is going to lead so any input is welcome. Anyhoo, onto the story.

It's bright. Almost too bright. It's even too bright when the clouds cover the sky. Damn these blue eyes, John thinks. Bah, I bet even brown eyed people are having trouble keeping both open today. He glances to his left and spies a couple sitting in a cafe. The girl is laughing at something her boyfriend just said. Isn't it nice, John thinks. All this happiness and I get none of it.

Wait. There are those occasions where it creeps in, his mind conceeds. Like the last time I was playing a game of soccer with my pals and Paul went for a header, but the ball was travelling so quickly it knocked him off his feet and he jumped back up yelling, "Yeah!" Ahhh, good times. If only I was sevenenteen again. Then that thought quickly passes as he dismisses just how good it would be to be seventeen again.

His gaze shifts and he notices a man standing on top of a box with a kazoo-like instrument in his mouth, all dressed in white, pretending to be a robot. He's seen this a hundred times and it still amazes him that so many congregate around this individual to watch and laugh favorably. Not only that... but they even pay him. John continues to survey the landsape and his next eye candy is a band playing for a group of people. This is something John gets. He understands the skill involved in playing an instrument. Not only that, but also, playing an instrument in a group, which requires some level of skill he can respect. Even he is enjoying the music coming from the bongos, xylophone, drums, maracas and voice of the band. It adds to the whole scene. It even brings enjoyment to the manbot with the kazoo.

His mind shifts to his destination. Thinking to himself, he hopes that there are still some dealers on the corner. What about that girl over there. Wow, she's amazingly attractive. He shakes it off. Doesn't want to stare. Just then he walks past a panhandler. "Hi." He says. She responds with a smile and a kind word. John passes her and after half a block thinks to himslef, "damn, I had a toonie in my pocket... should I go back? No... There are so many poor, you can't help them all all the time, hell, you're almost one of them." Yet John knows that even though he might be close to what some may consider poor, he's by no means destitute.

John reaches the block he's been heading for in hopes of scoring some weed. "God, what I wouldn't give for a joint today," he thinks to himself. This time there's no police around and his hopes raise. He continues up the block and as he passes someone they, almost inadubly say, "buds?" John stops in his tracks. "Sure."
"What'd you like?"
"Couple dime bags would be sweet."
"You've come to the right man."
"Awsome." John says. Waiting is always uncomfortalbe so he chimes in. "Thank god it stopped rainin."
"Yeah. Here ya go."
"Thanks man." John passes the folded twenty stashed in his pocket to the weed-man and in the same motion the weed-man passes over the two baggies of pot. A large grin crosses John's face. Mission accomplished.