descriptive

in the event that i die tomorrow i can at least be happy about the scene from my patio during the afternoon hours today. as i listened to agaetis byrjun i lay on a reclining chair. the sun, directly above me, cast golden light and spots across my eyes. the warmth of the concrete on my feet and the faint waxing and waning of traffic in the distance gave the impression of a summer day on the coastline, waves foaming and dying. as sigur ros played electric guitar with a bow a young doe came out of the trees and stood for at least a minute, catching my eye once. she knew what i was thinking. why should i ever be afraid in the suburbs?
on second thought, i can’t die tomorrow. i promised baby that we’d go dancin’ tomorrow night. she said it was cold out there, and i replied that it was warm in bed. they can dance; we’ll watch mtv instead.