Overheard Haiku “My hamster is mad— I'm sure he's plotting revenge," pink-haired lady sighs.
Bus driver nodding, sage-like, world-weary, agrees: "Hamsters, man. Who knows."
The silence returns. Wheels rumble philosophical beneath tired feet.
I wonder briefly: Do hamsters lie awake, whispering conspiracies under cedar-chip blankets? Or is it just Monday getting the best of us again?
Wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget… but I still might.
I sat down at the corner café, ready to battle my notebook again, but my coffee betrayed me, turning from fresh espresso to tepid sadness faster than I could open my pen.
Last night’s dreams lingered, absurd: A spiral staircase leading nowhere, and a goldfish gently asking me for career advice.
I offered some tips— (“Swim against the current,” I said, sounding wiser than a half-asleep human has any right to be.)
Today, caffeine is failing at its only job: Coffee hits like tap water, and tap water, well, it feels more like a tranquilizer dart.
Maybe my goldfish client has it easier after all.
Wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget… but I still might.
