A recent thought I've had involves complaining. Now God knows I've done my fair share of talking trash, so I'm not leaving myself out of the mix here, but why does there seem to be an overwhelming desire to talk about how much you've been wronged? I mean on a daily basis I overhear and directly listen to more gossip, character assassination and bitching about how I'm right and they're wrong than I hear about how sweet their friends are or how they plan to rise above the adversity. It's come to the point where I refuse to even vent because I know how quickly that can turn into complaining. And often times when I finally hear friends, acquaintances or strangers speak positively, they do it in the form of self indulgence. Where has humility gone? Well, I don't want to beat a dead horse here or fall into the trap of complaining about complaining, so I'll stop myself. And now a short-short story that may or may not have anything to do with what I've been writing about....
Interruption
Morris casually hiked in the soft April rain, smiling toward the charcoal sky. Leaving the city reminded him of how simple and beautiful the landscape used to be. Morris slid his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Wait a minute, he thought. I'm missing my wallet. He always put his wallet in his front right pocket instead of the traditional right butt pocket for two reasons: One, he hated the feeling of being uneven when he sat down. And two, he figured it would make him exponentially more difficult to pick-pocket. Morris looked around at the ground. No black leather rectangle to be found anywhere in 10 foot radius. His heart dropped. He checked his pockets one more time. Hold on. His cell phone was no longer in his front left pocket. Again, he frantically scanned the ground. Nothing. Morris started to panic. How are people suppose to get a hold of him? What if someone is maxing out his credit cards right now? And even if they were, he wouldn't even be able to call to cancel them. He instinctively reached in his pockets again. Shit. No keys. Both pockets, completely empty. Morris was stranded. He had lost the three most important items in his world: phone, wallet, keys. He began retracing his steps. Nothing but brown, wet leaves. They have to be in my car, he thought. The rain stopped. Morris made his way back to his car. Locked. No other vehicles around. He had no idea what to do. The sun surfaced from behind the clouds.
