This was an unusual squirrel for many reasons. Foremost, he was 68 years old. His extended longevity allowed him the luxury to identify himself as male, and thusly name himself, Sammy. To put things in perspective, it is rare, probably impossible, for a squirrel to live more than 25 years, especially on the rugged gang-infested streets of South side Chicago.
You know it’s an ass of a day when you have growing empathy for a piece of dog excrement because it’s not getting as much attention from the flies as the rotting carcass of a half-eaten raccoon. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The park was littered with half-eaten cotton candy, corncobs, styrofoam and plastic-coated cups. The trashcans overflowed with crushed Mexican beer cans and wedges of dried out limes.
Where once was green grass was now yellow something or another. Large tracts of land matted down like old man hair. This was the aftermath of Hickory Heights Round-Up Days. Every year, like self-imposed psoriasis, the carnival came.
In the very near future, everyone will agree that global warming will defeat and devastate mankind. Even the stubborn Republicans, who will fully admit that they knew it all along, but were merely playing devil’s advocate to force the science community to work harder, will demand a change.
Let me make myself perfectly clear, time is not a racist and does not give two shits about you, whether you’re black, white, yellow, brown, red, or any combination thereof. Time will beat the living shit out of you and you can’t do anything about it. It just marches forward in calculated goose steps, never looking back. It will always disregard the courtesy of leave no man behind. If time shows prejudice to anyone, it is the elderly.