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by Richard Brobst Sometimes I blame it on too much sunshine-- it makes us want to run over one another, or lie in the sand until our brains turn to fried yolks. Perhaps it has even driven men, mid-sixties, to wear Harley shirts, race up and down dead end streets, false teeth snapping at the salt breeze. Even yesterday they came in their awful pack crossing Elm and Orange, spitting exhaust and disrupting the crucial vowels of an outdoor dog wedding. And then, there is the lady who called the Humane Society regarding a mother fox tumbling with her pups beside the curb where her Cadillac parks. Clearly upset she was when no action could be taken, and sharply stated: "There is far too much nature down here." Retiring to Florida certainly makes one want to kill something. Copyright 2012. All rights reserved. Want to comment on this story? Click Here to go the Literary Review Discussion Forum (for the subject, enter "Comment on story Retiring to Florida") |