day of rest


by the time five o'clock sunday rolls around, i am darn ready to close the store and get outside.  after working my retail shifts, smiling my special "only for customers" smile, so much so that i fear my face might get stuck that way, i am pretty eager to get back to my sunshine and shovel, my dirt, my weeding and turning of new garden beds, to get my hands black in the mud.  by sunday at five, i am ready for the tourists to go home, to stop peeking over my fence, ready for them to give me my town back, and for the busy streets full of shiny black expensive cars and gurgling harley davidsons to be empty again, so i can walk my dogs down the center line, in a yes i live here, thank you sort of way.  yeah, sure, i depend on tourism.  but that dependency is a double-edged sword.  sometimes it's hard not to resent the situation, feeling like an monkey at a zoo begging for a measly peanut from passerby.  thankfully, sunday always brings monday, the quietest day, a day of rest. 

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