Gaivota

She woke to the sound of the timber, loud and clear as if trumpted by the clock calculating the dear departed. It ran in obscurity, obsessively slow, solicitously mutating, taking a life of its own. She thought it was the town snake, snoozing its way through the mud; perhaps, the eerie dwarf across the street spreading a cheaper version of the salad dressing recipe to the residents but it wasn’t. Legend is, it wasn’t even a story but as clear as mama’s homemade grits: the old weasel, the security guard, drunk as skunk, snoring his hearts content as he slept.
©️Angela Aguiar

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