He lived in a flamingo pink house with mint speckled shutters. It was the kind of house people who wandered past thought Surely no one lives there!, but it was a house. So, someone's got to live there. It was just him alone in that loud, somewhat audacious, house. Sure, women tended to come and go, but they had no thoughts of Michelangelo. He wasn't interested. Days seemed to dance by him and he analyzed each one.
He left the speckled shutters open. As to give the audience of the world a show of the seemingly extinct inhibitor of the rosy house. He traded his Television for the display of the window, making a joke about the amazing quality of the visuals. Sure, that doesn't sound like something someone would do, but it's something to do. So, he did it. He wasn't like a normal person, but not in the endearing way of a lovable outcast. People more just thought he was an asshole.
He sat at his window writing vigorously in his leather-bound journal. Outsiders thought he was writing a book, little did they know they were the muses. Below are the accounts of what was found in his filled journal. He has a name, as does everyone and thing, but it is unimportant.
YOU ARE READING
The Flamingo
HumorMany things fill the window of the man who lives in the flamingo colored house. The strangers who pass by fill his journal and come to life on the page. Lives that saunter past his window include those of Alyssa the OCD pacer, The unnervingly han...
