Saturday

I'm writing like a maniac. Every bird I see, I want to write a full page about the way it rustles it's feathers, the way it perches upon the telephone wire, the way it sings it's glorious song of lament. I'm starting a new work, probably a composition of several non-fiction essays, about people. But these people are different. They are people who know who they are and have no aspect or wish to conform to society. These people live in their own world, the world that they find befitting, wither it be in the gray office of a First Federal building or kicking a scooter down Tradd Street. These people receive no respect or appreciation from society and I feel that it is my calling to portray them through my writing.
Have a good weekend.
It's Blues Fest.