A.G.E's Joint

I was going to post a story about another bottle blonde teenager making a bad decision, but the thing ever seems to come together. How do you handle failed stories or concepts? Do put them aside and hope they'll work out later? Or do you just kill them and move on? It is one of those dry periods where I can't quite get things to work out. I could blame the phone binging every twenty seconds with a political pitch, or my son's move into his new place (Yay for empty nesting!) But I've put out more with a lot worse going on. I guess I'll just look at this Orangutan. It's better than the Presidential Debate. Or wondering if my saying "Happy Birthday" is just another advertising data point.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Topic-Failed Stories Hard prompt Use Binging Easy prompt  Data point Pic-Rebecca Gruessendorf Pic guesses; Orangutan, monkey business, balance, nose, why?

 It's Friday and I was at a loss on how to handle the topic this week. Yesterday, I was scrolling around, trying to avoid the subject when a Facebook notification came up for an exhibit called "Tiny Parks Atlanta", which is on display now until Sunday afternoon (10/18/2020). A group called Livable Buckhead organized it to promote green space, they set up the project along   Path400 near Lenox Square. It's a short distance from home and I'd rather spend my day in the sunshine than listening to the political bullshit hitting me from all directions.  The weather was glorious. I found a place to park and spent a minute chatting with the organizers. They explained the concept and how I might vote for my favorite. I made my way up the hill towards Lenox Rd.  42 dioramas were scattered on either side of the path. The theme was to envision the ideal park environment on a small scale. It got its idea from another project called Tiny Doors Atlanta ( #tinydoorsatl ), where

  Fluffy clouds hung in the slate sky on the drive home. The colors reminded him of Sarah’s soft eyes on the dock. He relaxed and smiled. How he wished everything could have been different. That Mother hadn’t been such a bitch and pushed him to do what he did. That he’d never met those nasty cops. Sarah was more than a cousin. She was his little sister even though she was three years older. Someone to protect and nurture. Aunt Barb and her mom were dead and she was left with two shattered legs. Mother had to be convinced to take her in. If it had been up to her, Sarah would have gone into foster care. She didn’t want the burden but was forced by the court. Her resentment was palpable, complaining about cleaning the braces and extra food. There had been many times he had taken the hits from Mother, just to keep her away.  But that was in the past. It could never change. It was the day before his tenth birthday when he came home from school and Mother announced they were moving to some