Cigarette Stories #2

The wind was lashing out, harassing the whole street. The puddle was so moved it had a current. The puddle was so moved it moved, tired of being forcefully shoved down the way. I could tell it approached its breaking point, frustrated with its disposition to constantly change direction with the wind. The piles of dead Christmas trees filled the street, the aftermath of new year's new me's, just laid there like bodies. The wind, filled with festive spirit, decided to change that. Rolling a child sized body in the way of walkers. But it didn't change anything, the man and his dog, did what they were, they were walkers, gormless, continuing on their path, remorseless. The puddle made a leap, trying to to change its fate it tried to step out of the way. For once in its short life it tried to avoid the chaos. I say these were all attempts because it failed, like the old man fighting his blustering bag they were both headed for who they were before. Just because it's a new year and the wind was frantic to change doesn't mean all things won't settle back the same.