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Lawn Mowing

I would walk in the heat of the noon-day sun, fatigued from staying up too late. Sweat would drip down, as I pushed the mower in straight rows, slowing getting closer to the house. I would stop to push down sprinkler heads and pick up sticks; or when the bag would be too full and I would have to carry the sweet smell of freshly cut grass to the other end of the yard, where I would dump it on the pile of compost, on top of the ants and flies buzzing around. I would proceed to run back to the lawn mower after noticing a black and yellow hornet. All the while, the sounds of the mower would be drowned out by the music blasting from my headphones. The headphones, which lay on top of the ears instead of modernly inside them, were connected to a Sony Walkman CD player, inside of which a mix CD of illegally downloaded music would spin at incredible speeds. The hard rock sounds of Disturbed or Linkin Park would blare teenage angst at me, resembling the immaturity of my youth. I would sing along, my voice becoming deeper as the weeks went by. Then, when it was all done, I would look at my completed work, and feel a twinge of pride for finishing what I had set out to do. I would promptly collect my $20 and proceed to call my dad from the client’s home phone and ask him to pick me up.


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