Clouds drift by overhead.
It looks like rain is coming.
I am immoveable here against this wall. I feel cement under me and against the middle of my back. I watch the clouds while finishing off the last pieces of fruit from a ziploc bag. The grass barely twitches in the breeze. Like me, the grass watches the clouds.
I sit. Or I stand. Nobody interferes. Nobody intervenes.
It looks like rain is coming, but the sun brightens the cement where the clouds are thin. I sit here.
I leave. Nobody interferes.
The American Dream.