Me, I don’t know why he chose that colour, but there he was in his orange t-shirt, a little boy planted in the middle of the street. He had a whistle, too, and me, I don’t favour the instrument — it’s too simple. Of course it’s not like he was soliciting opinions on his choice of noisemaker. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, actually. Me, I like that kind of person. Quiet. Except for the whistle.
There was a second boy in orange there with his arm slung around the little whistler. Me, I can relate to that — friendship. It’s beautiful. But this second boy had a strange eye on the crowd in the distance, and me, I don’t approve of that. Doesn’t he know staring is rude? Some might let it slide, but me, I’d talk to his mother if I had the chance.
Speaking of mothers, right then an old lady strolled by wearing a bizarre headdress if I’ve ever seen one — and me, I’ve seen a few in my day — tall as a tower, and draped over with a shawl. Hard to know the purpose of it for certain, but me, I’d guess she was hiding something. Why else would she be sweating bullets? Grandmas these days. People say they’re sweet, but me, I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them.
Between the orange boys and the nervous lady, you’d think there was enough to take in. But me, I noticed something else — a serious man behind the rest of them with a funny look on his face. The average joe wouldn’t know how to place a look like that. But me, I can tell you. Knowing, that’s what it was. A knowing look. Me, I don’t appreciate that kind of expression.
Some bloggers are indifferent. But me, I’m glad you read my post. Thanks 🙂