Crow Your Last Crow

The Rooster is on vacation. Or has Laryngitis. Or dare I hope...dead.

For days now I've been able to sleep until natural sounds of city life wake me. Sweet bliss is brought by the bus horn. So soothing is the hacksaw of construction. Generous portions of serenity rain down with each screaming gang fight. Now I can rest and enjoy what city life was meant to be without rural intrusion.

I don't know who to thank. Another distraught neighbor within earshot? A teenage delinquent with a slingshot? An underground cock-fighting ring?

I might even take a nap today. Why? Because I can.