Lonely Benches

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Was it possible for park benches to become lonely? He imagined so. After all, they just sat there, waiting until company came along. Worse, however, the company wasn’t always pleasant. Yet the benches were stuck, like the person at a party who knows no one. Stuck speaking only with those that dare introduce themselves on account of how uncomfortable you looked there in the corner on your own. You were clutching your glass as though it were a life preserver.

Then again, you sometimes get lucky, he supposed. The right person approaches you and sticks with you for the rest of the affair.

Still, it wasn’t the most pleasant way to be, was it? Waiting for life to approach you. You were passive. A bystander.

Yes, there had to be better things to be than a park bench.

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Recyclable

Bux
Whipped cream melted in defeat against the hot summer sun, sinking into the ice in muddy chocolate pools. Why someone hadn’t just bothered to throw away their cup was unclear, but there it sat in a patch of sunlight, just to the left of a wooden bench deep within the park.