Next Year

I predict that next year I will live alone, with a robin's egg blue bicycle I have named Doris. I will store Doris in my small living room, which will be completely devoid of furniture save for the 1970s vintage swivel chair I bought from St. Vincent De Paul when I was 20 years old. The cat that I will find or buy by this time next year will be black or gray; she will be female and I will name her Wallis, but I will always refer to her as Moo-Moo. This is a habit I developed at age 5 which I cannot seem to rid myself of. The hobbies I will have will mostly consist of crocheting, writing poetry, cooking, playing various obscure sports and noticing the small details about people that no one else ever notices. I will eat string cheese in my 1970s vintage chair as Wallis stares at me petulantly and I will wonder where all the other people like me are. At this point I will realize the others are doing what I am doing; sitting in their own thrift store chairs, eating their own cheese, being glared at by their own cats. I will resolve to go out and find these others, and their chairs and cheese and cats. However, instead I will sit in my apartment and tell Wallis about the man I will meet who will spend Sundays counting my freckles and telling me stories about his life as a boy.