Walking out to my car

The best possible alternative
to sitting idly, waiting for
something
to happen

Adventure and chaos form
on my walk to my car
even when
it's the only destination

A blonde walks by
stealing her man's arm
and his tennis racket.

A magazine salesman
presumably with no where
left to go,
watches the sunset and
drowns himself
in bottled water.

And this shrub.
This fucking shrub;
it has to be alive.
Sinister, scheming,
It rustles and sways
every. single. time.
On a still day without breeze.
No animals hiding in the leaves.
This shrub is going to rise,
roots and earth and malevolence,
come up from the soil
and swallow me whole

Some asshole drives by,
any man who drinks knows.
In a black truck, He
pretends to aim for the dumpster.
But any man who drinks knows
there's nothing quite like
a recently downed bottle
shattering and flying
across the pavement.
Or the kitchen wall.
But that is, well,
that's chaos for
another time.

Perspiring and feeling like
summer itself,
I reach my red hands down,
into my wrinkled pocket,
drag the keys out
across the fabric.
I find the larger one.

Where was I going again?