Sunday mornings on Love Lane ...

A beautiful Sunday morning on Love Lane .

As if by law , the simple quietness takes over on Sunday mornings here .

The few and free roosters and chickens spreading thier love on Love Lane in Key West.

Im not so certain about love of the human kindness toward them ..

So many hate them , detest them ,. regress into fits of anger over the crowing , the shit they leave behind while at rooste up in the trees at nights ..

I collect a few fresh eggs now and again when I can find them , very delicious , thank you very much ,

The old man upstairs screws up his brow , slings words of unkindness towards the old Indian woman .. those are your fucking chickens and roosters , your bought them here. Of course the old Indian woman disagrees .. I love fresh eggs , dont you... O that screwd up face gets a little tighter as he yanks another loose hair out of his old ear ,, declareing she eats her pets now .

No pleaseing some folk no matter what you do .

Fresh eggs a delightful eat and I just saved money.

It boils down to the love of money on Love Lane.

All those millions of dollars invested into property that took a nose dive into reality .

What was is no longer and may never be again.

It somewhat amuses the old Indian woman as if the window she sits next to is a open view into the lives of others .

She feels good about throwing out scraps of food , feeding the chickens and other feathered friends and some with fur that say meow ... O such a kind woman to feed us a few tasty treats . Is it Love . Why should she toss it into a trash can and let it rot , that would be breeding rats and coach roaches , needless to say the stintch between a hot Sunday till Wendesday again till Sunday trash removal . Why waste anything is her motto.

Now the real shit is dropped by those two legged humans who choose to go out and get wasted at the bars and dont care who hears what as they return to thier once million dollar cottages .

O ,,the things she hears out that window ! O,, the things she sees!

The old man upstairs trying to shame her every move and word .. You nosey old woman he scoffs at her .. mind your own damn business .. his words going to the word grave yard death on her ears. Well they make it my business when they so choose to blurt out what ever they wish to be blurting out about . Like most old men he has to have something to bitch and moan and groan about espically when those damn sluts the Millers girls are mere empty memories laying next to the recycle bin .. He cant hit that damn bin no matter what from up top of the balcony even with his glasses sitting half way straight on his crocked nose. Alwasy telling the old Indian woman to put a pipe in it ,, as if she is some kind of plumber ,, well do you see that toilet still sitting out under the shed for four months not installed yet , what will your neighbors think ., put a pipe in that old man. They both shuffle off their separtate ways , him up top on his balcony and she is sitting in the old rocker on front porch , sometimes nothing to say for days ... weeks ... months .... just a discerning looks in their eyes towards one another , the nod of the head ... neither backing down from the silence that is golden.

I love the chickens and the baby chicks and all of the roosters , they belong here ,. free to roam the island as they always have .. not getting drunk and thinking their shit dont stink ... at least they are productive and love to love on Love Lane. Look at all the bugs , what bugs , the fucking bugs you will have once you start getting rid of the chickens and roosters. You assholes !!!

The old Indian woman scuffs back at those who wish to rid the island of the them, our foul feathered friends much better than foul weather friends , those who only really speak to you if something bigger than their wallet can afford suddenly appears ..

Does she see lovers holding hands strolling down Love Lane , nope . Just the usual fuss n hurry up of get going out to the bars , leaving behind them a nice since of quietness for a few hours .. until that dreaded taxi pulls up with drunks spilling out into the lane and all the BLA BLA BALLLLLLLLLS , spewing from their loud mouths , damn they just woke up the freakin rooster from the peace of the night .

Its another day in paradise , who has lice , and ice dont last more than a min.

Cats laying about on the porches , sleeping the days away , too freakin lazy to catch a freakin rat ... waiting for that next bowl of Friskies or that fish the old Indain woman shares with them ... well a can of tuna anyways ...

The house is quiet and peaceful this Sunday morning Above Solaris Hill , opps , that is the name of the old mans Blogspot , Above Solaris Hill . Well he has egged her own to start her own damn blog and leave his alone, so here it is folks , Love Lane of Key West , the very best she can do .

Here I shall post many wonderful Love stories about the Love on Love Lane of Key West .

My grammer is more horrible than my spelling but I dont give a rats ass .

Read it the way you want to , want to spend time correcting the grammer and spelling then I guess you got nothing better to do and was meant to be. Enjoy !

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! O ,the things she sees.