A Sore Sight
No more than five minutes later my wits begin to return.
First I sit up…
Another five minutes or so and I stand…
How? Surely I was near death.
Five more minutes and I feel almost perfect- at least as perfect as I’ve ever felt. Absurd.
It must be in the fruit.
The pungent smells persists, but alas, I can see it. I’m only about a hundred feet closer than I was on the bridge, but it is clear:
That is a junkyard.
A sore sight for sore eyes.