You are walking your dog down your street early one dew-soaked morning. Oh no! Is that your neighbour-lady from the house with the yellow door coming out to go to work? You are pretty sure she was at the country concert last weekend before the skies opened up, creating a giant mud pit and sending everyone home. You know that both her and her husband work at the local software company that has been profiled in the newspaper with its foosball and table tennis recreation time. You step into the sidewalk between the houses that takes you to the park. You feel your shoe sink into something squishy, and you look down to see a left-over reminder of a weekend of washed out dreams. The colour of mud reminding you of your own drab workspace. If only you could blast into outer space. If only you could have a vacation in some place, warm and tropical. The tug of the leash brings you back to the bright dew-covered park, and your life here and now.
Every Friday, I try to write some fiction. Today I tried to write in a way that every sentence describes a different setting a different action.