“Look at them children, running around.”, He said moving his hand on the window from left to right.
A tender young woman walked over to him, “Dad?”
The man turned and looked at his daughter briefly, wrinkled his forehead and squinted his eyes, “They’re so fast. Like lightning. See how fast they run? Like cheetahs.”, He said tracing the reflections on the glass with his index finger.
“Sure dad.”, She said.
They were standing on the schoolyard he played on as a kid.
He was standing in the bushes right next to the window of the classroom.
As a final wish, he wanted to have on last journey, pass by all the places he had made fond memories as a kid.
His daughter agreed to watch him, “Dad, they’re going to think your a pervert. We should go.”, She said while pulling on his coat.
“What if.”, He muttered as he pressed his face up against the glass window.
“What if, they somehow shrunk down to the size of a watermelon, and climbed up my spine and started to dislocate each of my vertebras? Until I collapse like a lifeless sack of bones.”
She sighed at his paranoia kicking in again, “Dad, that’s ludicrous”
“Just kidding.” He interrupted.
They both smiled and walked back to the car.
He stopped and started yelling, “The bird-people! They have come to get me, quickly run!”
The running came to a hold when he passed by the alley he had his first kiss with a girl with braces and ponytails.
“Here is when I exchange my first mouthful of saliva with a stranger. After that I got really ill and we all know what happened after that.”, He said exhausted from running the short bit.
“I was born.”, His daughter returned.
They started to walk back to the car and with each step he took he dislocated one of the brick tiles from the sidewalk.
“What makes you think that?” He said while he walked behind her.
She ignored him and from a distance unlocked the car doors.
They got in and she sticked the key in the ignition, and was ready to turn it, “Where to now?”
“Oh, I know this great place nearby where I first made contact with the other side.”, Her father explained while he was trying to figure out how to buckle his seatbelt.
She helped him and asked, “The other side?” and began to drive to their next destination.
“Haven’t you been paying any attention to what I’v been telling you? This is my life we’re talking about! You should be writing this stuff down. Write me a memoir.” He yelled.
He went on and she seemed to listen anymore, “My old neighbors, I’m sure they still live there. Their not from around here you know. Mexicans I think, or Martians, do you think they have Mexican Martians on the moon?”
She stops on the side of the road leading back to the retirement home, “Dad, I’m going to take you back.”
“And they don’t wear any underwear! Can you believe that!” he yelled into the air vent in the dashboard.

Luigi was racing through the tiny streets of L’Aquila on a red shiny moped, was his way of showing off how much of a man he was.
Eyewitness statements described the noise coming from the 50cc engine was like a tin can filled with hundreds of irritated wasps, placed inside a tumble dryer that was inside a cement truck.
Some loose hairs managed to break free from his gel glued hairdo and were waving in the wind.
Luigi was wearing thick black sunglasses, a black leather jacket and tight jeans.
He felt really cool after he passed by some ladies that smiled when he passed by them.
They weren’t smiling at him because he was cute, but were actually laughing because he looked like a douche bag.
When he came to an intersection he did the most macho thing he could think of and ignored the traffic lights completely and beelined through the traffic.
Besides almost creating a chain reaction of car crashes, he had cut of an elderly lady who was also riding a moped.
A small basket with some groceries bags in them was hanging from her steering wheel, and as she steered out of the way from the maniac that had just cut her off, some oranges fell down onto the streets.
She stopped to pick them up and saw him just driving along his little way, not paying any attention to what he had just done.
She crushed one of the oranges between her boney fingers and jumped back on her moped.
She then drove to a phone booth and called some of her friends and continued chasing Luigi.
As she drove down the street following him, a couple more grannies on wheels joined her, they come from small alleyways and narrow streets.
They were chasing him at about 50 Km/h, and even though they were wearing silly looking helmets strapped tightly around their heads, looked really mad.
At first he didn’t notice that he was being chased, until he slowed down when he passed by some attractive girls sitting on a bench in front of a bakery.
He heard angry yelling and the loud collection of noise behind him, he immediately knew what was going on and forced his moped to take off at full speed.
The chase went on for another 30 minutes until a big truck pulled out of side street and blocked the way, making his escape impossible.
He hits the brakes and stepped of his moped and turned around and faced his pursuers.
The lady he had cut off walked over to him while her gang members drove around them in a tight circle, honking and shouting inappropriate Italian words.
He dropped down on his knees and begged her for mercy.
Sadly, she had left her mercy at home that day.
She knocked him on the head with a wine bottle she had taken from one of her grocery bags.
When he woke up he had ropes wrapped around his wrists, ankles and neck.
These ropes were attached to different mopeds with angry ladies on them, revving the engine while they waited for the signal.
The old lady laughed and raised her fist into the air, and as she did her gang members drove into different directions and began pulling Luigi apart.
Considering they could only get up to speeds of 50 Km/h, it took a while for them to pull of his limbs and head.
A breeze of wind cleared the petrol fumes out of the streets.
They all parked their mopeds on the sidewalk and stood around his remains, and dipped their index and middle fingers in the puddle of blood and limbs, and painted thick red lines under their eyes.
And started to walk around his guts like Indians around a campfire, tapping their opened mouths with the palms of their hands.
The sound they made travel through the city.
whoo whoo
whoo whoo
whoo whoo

I have always found the expression digging for gold to be falsely promising, what about people like me, who enjoy picking their bellybuttons for treasures?
And picking your nose is like digging for gold? I have been up there and theres nothing valuable to be found.
I work a mediocre job (but that doesn’t bother me), at night, right after dinner I sit down on the couch and watch TV while my finger delves around in my bellybutton in search of interesting things the day had left behind.
It’s true that on most nights all I manage to scoop out are bundles of fabric, cookie crumbles and dust.
But on a good night I might pull out something special, like last week while I was watching House I picked a small diamond out of my navel, or at least at first I thought it was, I mean it was so shiny so what else could it have been.
I took it to a Jewish diamond expert and he told me it was just a oversized grain of sand.
I still had hope I would one day find myself a real treasure hidden somewhere in the nooks and crannies of my bellybutton.
Then one night I was watching Lost and my finger was fiddling around in my bellybutton, and when I thought I had cleaned out the place I felt something strange.
It felt a bit like metal and I began pulling it out, my bellybutton stretched to the max and I was starting to see what it was, a human hand started to come out of my belly.
I kept pulling until the arm had come out up to the elbow, it began moving around and grabbed a hold of the coffee table and started pulling itself out.
Blood came gushing out and my bellybutton was completely torn apart.
I passed out because of the pain and when I woke up again I was looking at my own mother covered in blood.
She looked at me oddly and said, “Now you know what it’s like. And I told you to stop picking your bellybutton!”

The last remaining bits of human civilization can be found in a city smothered in the smog of their ancestors.
Tall buildings nicknamed, skyticklers by their inhabitants, rise high above the thick layers of fumes and smoke.
The human race had never been this close to the heavens before.
All the animals and plant life that this planet once had was wiped out by the poisonous smog that haunted them.
Far below them were gigantic machines that through a process that polluted the Earth even more gave them food, water and electricity.
Robots roamed the Earth and were created to maintain the machines that kept them alive.
And with each passing year the sea of smog would rise up exactly one floor, and so they build another floor on top of the skyscrapers, moving up their lives one floor at a time.
This went on until they climbed up so high up into the atmosphere, no human life was impossible.

If someone were to ask him, what he would bring with him if he somehow knew he would be stranded on a deserted island, he would say, his electric blanket.
Even though there wouldn’t be any outlets to plug it into, that’s just how much he loved it.
He took it with him anywhere he went and most of the times he had an extension cord in his backpack just in case.
Even with such an obsession he managed to find himself a nice girl that he asked to marry him.
She said yes without any doubt and a couple of months later she was walking down the aisle holding onto her father’s arm.
The groom was wearing a tuxedo and had a electric blanket wrapped around his waist with an extension cord running down the aisle.
Together they stood in front of the pastor who began the ceremony.
When the ancient old question was asked he immediately replied with ‘I do’
The pastor asked her the same question and she too said , ‘I do’
Rings went around fingers and they were ready to kiss.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’ The pastor said and so they did.
Everyone started celebrating.
The mother of the groom turned on her blender, the bride’s mother began blow drying everyone’s hair.
The two families were both electronic appliance crazy and their massive use of electricity made the lights on the ceiling pulse.
They ran out of church to their hybrid wedding vehicle, their family members showered them in batteries instead of the traditional rice.
Empty kitchen appliance boxes drag behind their hybrid car as they drive off into their future.

His son about ten years old with more freckles than stars in the night sky, was staring into the eyes of a puppy that was missing a front leg.
“We have been calling him Tres. That means three in Spanish.” The young blond volunteering at the animal shelter said.
She, for some reason was wearing two different kind of shoes, one boot on her right leg and a sport shoe on the other.
The father observed his son falling in love with the small dog that kept falling over.
He looked over at the young blond, “Why are you wearing two different shoes?”
“I have started walking Tres and every time he wants to mark his territory I have to put my leg next to him so he can lean against it and pee.”, She explained.
She got down on her knees next to the boy and asked, “Do you want to know how he lost his leg?”
“Yes!” The boy yelled back, the puppy instinctively barked once.
“He, like his mother is a stray dog. And his mother got pregnant and found an abandoned house, and inside a closet she gave birth to Tres, two sisters and three brothers. Then one night when they were all asleep a couple of rascals were playing with matches in the old house, when things went wrong and they started a fire and then ran off. The house was filled with smoke and flames and the mother woke up and started to save her children, one by one she took them outside into the backyard but when she wanted to go back in the entrance was blocked by the fire, leaving Tres and his brother alone upstairs. Then Tres saved his brother by dragging him downstairs and out of the house through the front door. And somewhere along the way he had burned one of his legs so badly the doctor had to amputate it. Tres is a hero, let me get his brother.”, she said all of that without taking a single breath of air.
She got back up and picked another small puppy from a cage that looked nothing like the three legged one, “You see, he saved him.”
She was holding up the small dog and grabbed his paws and pretended it could talk, “Thank you Tres, my sweet brother for saving me.” She said while hiding her mouth behind the confused looking dog’s head.
The boy was amazed by Tres his heroic act and the two of them wanted to be together.
They stared up at the boy’s father with their combined puppy eyes attack, that was like a beam that send the feeling of guilt through his entire body.
So he nodded and moments later found himself driving home with tumbling from left to right on the backseat.
The young blond was so happy that she had finally gotten rid of Tres, she started dancing with one of the dogs she was grooming.
She was running out of stories on how he lost his leg. She told each person a different story like how it got bitten of by a alligator, or how he lost it in a horrible accident during a Pepsi commercial, or that time he got his paw stuck between a hatch door on the international space station.

When I came home she was snoring like a gutted wild boar and probably shopping for shoes in her dreams.
That night I dreamed about wild boars in high heels parading around town.
Parades were always nice to go to, with big floating animals blocking out the sun like a big cloud.
In our younger years we used to watch clouds all the time trying to find familiar shapes in the sky above.
I had tendency to check my watch or a nearby clock to check the time every five minutes or less, it’s counterproductive my boss said, but I just cant help myself.
The word boss seems so negative, saying employer is much better. I mean a dog have a boss and the last time I checked there was no wagging tail above my butt.
This one time while I was walking my dog in this nice little park not far from my home, I stumbled upon a half eaten apple.
That reminds me of a fruit fly I once accidentally ate, it tasted nothing like fruit!
I have never eaten a piece of tongue in a fancy restaurant, it makes me wonder if my tongue would notice it’s tasting another tongue and wonder to itself if he is going to be next.
If things would ever come down to making the decision to eat another human being to survive I wouldn’t think twice.
Sorry about that I have the godawful tendency to talk a lot when I’m nervous, especially now that you shot me in the leg and I still have that gun pointed at my face.
I see your about to pull that trigger..