Weekend plans.

I passed by a store and saw a bag of black potato chips in the window (the bag). Instantly, I thought of you. The 987 pelicans fluttered over my face, rearranging themselves on the roofs and chimneys. We never had chimneys or stoves here. The pelicans were disposable plastic, and the sea was a mirage.
We only had seashells to crack against each other. The occasional freshwater crab and the nostalgia for times gone by.
I'll be able to paint this weekend. Miss art.