Monday at Good Morning

Hi everyone i am Bangladeshi and i describe my country's today's morning and my morning life style
It all seemed so wrong. The narrow little streets, each grassy front lawn with a history of
gardeners behind it. The middle aged Persian moms long past their prime but pushing their
heyday as far as it could go- still struggling to look young. The men they were with- husbands,
boyfriends, son's best friend. And what for? Did those men want to share in the dream of
manicured lawns and kids all grown up? Did they really want their own little corner of the narrow
grid? The highest corner room in the complex, with a balcony over Prospect avenue? A view of
the ABC Studios? Spotting Patrick Dempsey everyday round noon? Was that it? Was that life?
Why not a bullet in his head, in a war torn area, he thought. But that was young
foolishness talking, because his father had seen it and his father's father had done it. But he still
couldn't seem to get it out of his head. Love wasn't worth a damn unless life was on the line, he
thought. Otherwise it lacked all passion. And here on Myra avenue, life just seemed stagnant.
Stunning middle aged house wives walking their purebred dogs. The husband up to who knows
what.
If there was a daughter in one of those houses, a daughter who was longing to get away
from all these purebred dogs and experience something real, he'd find her and take her away by
God. Rescue her from all this middle class hell. They'd live on full burn till they ran out of oil.
“Then what?” said the voice in his head. Oh no! He'd spoken too soon. It was that contrary
voice in his head. The one he couldn't stand.
“How do you keep her entertained?” Said the voice. “She's not a puppy, you can't just take
her on walks.”
The voice was right. She was a human being and God knows human beings need
something tangible. And what was truth? What was the really real anyway? He didn't know! He
thought she'd help him find out. Thought she'd give him a piece of the puzzle. But that was young
foolishness talking. Dreams were starting to die quicker then the stubble grew on his chin.
There's got to be something more than this, though, he thought. Right? I mean- this isn't
living! His heart shouted! This isn't living! And he saw the cross light turn green and his mind
quieted. He obeyed and crossed empty Prospect avenue; walked up the driveway into ABC
Studios to start another day of work.