Flash Friday 8-29-14 One does not simply eat a peach in Flash Friday

Down the street the dogs are barking below the ragged caw of a crow and the pulsing wave of cricket chirps, a distant siren and the air, heavy, settling into restless leaves along shady avenues. This is to deafness what sunshine is to blindness; irrelevant.

“There are no original thoughts.”

“Yep, especially that one.”

“I don’t mean artistic though, or that all original thoughts have been used up.”

Dogs barked, crow, crickets, siren, air.

“Oh for Christ’s sakes, whenever you pause just pretend I filled the air with some sound of encouragement and surprise. Go on, go the fuck on willya?”

“It’s like on a cellular level, all this information is passed along to the next generation, and it’s like that whole generation spends it’s time catching up or re-inventing the wheel or —“

“Taking another bong hit. Dude, you can barely make the artistic case, ok?”

“Yeah but …”

And he just fades into dogs barking down the street, a raggedy crow on the move, cawing, the shifting pulse of cricket chirp, the hole in the thick air where a siren used to fit and will again, and the slow gurgle of a water pipe’s carburetor releasing