My Morning Walk to Jerry's

(After two picture posts in a row, I decided I had better slap some words together. So here is a really short story I wrote:)


Every morning at 6:30, I hike up my pants, drop a paper bag full of garbage into the can at the curb, and then take a walk to see my friend Jerry, who drives us to the diner for some coffee. Today was no different, except for a little bit.

At 6:30, I hiked up my pants and walked to the curb to drop my bag in the can. But the can was full. As I stood there wondering what to do, the bottom of my bag broke open, spilling orange peels, coffee grounds, and slimy wads of tissue all over the sidewalk. Relieved of my problem, I continued on to Jerry’s. As I walked down the sidewalk, I looked around for the usual suspects, but nobody was out today—not even that rotten paper boy.

I contend with one intersection on the way to Jerry’s, and today, for the first time since I can remember, the stoplight was green, allowing me to plow ahead into the street without breaking stride. But then, out of nowhere, this rusty black pick-up truck came barreling around the corner and charged right at me. I made my best effort to jump back, but I think I only made it as far as a slight lean when that truck flew by no less than a foot in front of me. Needless to say, I gave it a good fist-shaking as it roared down the street. Then, I hiked up my pants and continued on to Jerry’s.

About a block away from his house, I finally saw that good-for-nothing paper boy. He was running down the sidewalk, and from the way his head was tilted down, I could tell he couldn’t really see where he was going. I tried to move out of his way, but that crusty-booger-nosed punk crashed into me anyway, almost knocking me to the ground. The boy picked himself up, looked up at me, wiped his crusty nose, and kept right on running—all without saying a word. I gave him my best grumble as he ran off and then made my way up Jerry’s sidewalk to his door.

A couple of knocks on that old red door sent a deep rumbling through the house, and the odd thing was, the rumbling continued as I waited. Finally, Jerry answered the door.

“Where’s that rumbling coming from?” I asked.

“Hard to say,” he said. “Hard to say.”

The deep rumble grew louder.

“Jerry,” I said, “I think the world is doomed.”

“Huh. What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s the people, Jerry. The people are downright rotten, and that means the world is doomed.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I don’t know.”

The rumbling was becoming unbearable. I looked up, and there, beyond Jerry’s rooftop, I found the source.

“Also,” I said, “there’s an enormous, moon-sized asteroid about to crash into our planet.”

Jerry thought about this.

“Yep,” he said, “that’ll do it.”