Sittin' on the front steps of my porch.
Enjoying the sun on my skin.
Watching my strawberry popsicle melt on a plate beside me.
Wigglin' my toes.
I can hear an old 1920s crooner singing on the radio at the auto repair shop next door.
My friends are all at work.
I have a list of things I can do.
I'm not doing any of them.
Wedged between two bushes.
Paper and pen.
The need to feel purpose.
The need to know meaning.
The fear of growing apathy.
The fear of the fear of engaging purpose.
Fear of knowing meaning.