Fancy seeing you here. Meandering.
Meandering in a coffee-soiled, plum, velveteen business suit, meandering in lululemon leggings and oblong Ugg boots, meandering in flared jeans, an Old Navy sweatshirt, and no-show socks.
A meandering, churlish French man with a baguette and a bristly mustache, who divorced his sallow wife for an Italian girl in a floral, crepe dress, who trills, “Monseuirrrr?”
If only I was the Itali-
a meandering grandma, an itty-bitty sweetheart who embraced her snail-mail self, tentatively tiptoed across the threshold of The Internet, cowering in the onslaught of “tab-after tab-TAB-TAB-NO, ANOTHER WINDOW-tab-after tab.”
All to indulge herself on the online sales for turtle-necked sweaters.
And what, you demand, shaking a manicured nail at the sky, is that verbose trash, that good-for-nothing nonsense?
I was meandering, ladies and gents. Meandering.
Meandering from Ugg boots, to a baguette, and oscillating to a rest at “sweetheart grandma.”
The above is forced creativity at its finest, really.