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The fat man dragged
the hose from around back of the double wide and watered his desert flowers
that thrived in a neat, tidy, bed of curiously rich soil. He talked to
his Blue Larkspur, whose brilliant petals almost glowed - like the tropical
fish he'd once seen while snorkeling with his Mother in the Bahamas. (He
loved his Mother above anything - but that dirty, dirty man she was with
had tried to take her away!) He hummed to his Fairy Dusters and fingered
the yawning buds of his Arizona barrel cactus, bright speckles of color
against an otherwise colorless, lifeless expanse of heat vapor. He dug
his toe into the nutrient-rich brown soil, shook his fat head and muttered:
"Mom, Mom, Mom. At least we're together now."
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