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Start another story, tell it as you go

i was singing nursery rhymes with my sisters and welp.


It’s a quiet day, the sun is high but it isn’t unbearable heat. Sweat starts to slowly drip down the side of his face and he uses his sleeve to wipe it away, can’t with his hands because they’re covered dirty gloves. He looks around him, satisfied at the work he had done on the field that day.

He lets the sounds the animals are making wash over him, at first it had been annoying hearing too many quacks and clucking and mooing and neighing, but over the years it’s been a comforting sound. He thinks that he’ll be more worried if it was too quiet.

Satisfied, he walks back to his house, before entering makes sure to remove his boots so that he doesn’t trail mud anywhere inside. He cleans himself up, it’s almost the end of the day and thinks it’s time to relax.

After he’s clean enough, he heads out to the front of his house. He sits on the porch and watches the few cars that drive by. The truck that passes by piques his interest though, because he knows a moving truck when he sees one.

The trucks parks in front of the house across the street from his, empty now that the previous owner’s too old and her son had decided it was time she moved in with him. He smiles as he remembers her fondly, a spry woman of 72 who looked like she could still last longer when jogging in the mornings.

He pretends that he’s not watching people bringing in furniture to the old house, ultimately, the furniture isn’t anything unusual. The amount of furniture made it pretty obvious that only one person would be living in the house.

The person directing the movers seems like a calm young man. A dog stands beside him, its tongue lolling out. He has to stop himself from calling out to the dog, as he’s wont to do when it comes to animals.

The dog notices him nonetheless, its ears perking up and its tail wagging. Its owner notices and waves at him, and he can’t help but wave back.

He lets a smile grace his features, genuine and impersonal. He stands up, dusts himself, and thinks it’s time to be a good neighbor. He thinks what would be a better house warming gift, a platter of pie or maybe a jar of home-made jam.

The decision is taken from him when the dog gives a bark, runs across the street, and jumps him. Of course, its owner comes running after it, but he’s already fallen to the ground by the time the other got there.

“I’m sorry about that,” his new neighbor says, panting.

He shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter,” though he has to take a bath again. “I like animals anyway.” He scratches behind the dog’s ear, and the dog’s tongue lolls out again. “Mac,” he says, looking up at his new neighbor.

His new neighbor looks at him, a bit unsure at first, before he finally gets it. “Ah, sorry, yes, Bin.” He holds out a hand for Mac to take. “I’m Bin,” he starts to shake the other’s hand, now that Mac’s finally up and standing with the dog off of him.

“And how about this guy?” He asks when Bin has finally let go of his hand, pats the dog once more as it settles beside Bin.

Bin looks a little embarrassed. “Promise not to laugh,” he says nervously, chuckling uneasily. “His name’s Bingo.”

At first, Mac doesn’t get it. “Huh,” he takes a few more moments, mulling over why that’s embarrassing. And it settles in, “Oh.” He chokes back his laugh, doesn’t want to be rude. “Ah, what… an interesting name.”

Bin scrubs a hand over his face. “My sister thought it was funny to name him Bingo, and it wasn’t supposed to be that.” He sighs, “But it stuck anyway.”

“I think it’s great.”

Bin huffs out a breath, “I’m not making a good first impression, am I?”

Mac shakes his head, amused, “It’s nice to meet you,” he finally says.


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December 2016

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