Making my own Fun

I'm sitting in my temporary home looking out the window. I'm enjoying downtime. I'm a well-paid voyeur behind my tinted glass. An anonymous observer watching a co-worker make the most of a lunch break. The sun is out and so is this person's reflective dashboard screen. You've probably seen them. They are like quilted aluminum wrap or maybe a patchwork of old Jiffy Pop containers. Anyway, as I look out all I can see is this reflective sunshield and an open window on the driver's side. An arm extends across the windowsill, hand dangling, with a lit cigarette nonchalantly cradled between the index and middle fingers.

Somewhere an OSHA memo has gone missing. The owner of that vehicle might as well drape that reflective doohicky across her shoulders and stand on the roof of that vehicle in an electric storm. She's begging for it. If the skin cancer doesn't take root in that unshielded bit of skin laid across the windowsill like a baked potato in a microwave, the tar and nicotine will catch her from the other end. The view from here is still off-kilter. All I can see is this open window, that bit of arm regularly appearing and disappearing, and the occasional plume of smoke emerging to scatter on the breeze. Tsk. Tsk.

Well, as much as I'd love to stay here and belittle this person and her lifestyle choices, I need to go downstairs for a smoke break. I have some Latakia that is begging to be sacrificed in a burlwood altar.