L-O-L-A

I laid flat on my back, looking up at the leaves of the oak trees.  They looked so defined, like technicolor.  Only homeless people lay down in Grant Park, you know, on the ground.  I've always been attracted to it, and, I finally did it. An eight week old puppy laid on my chest, sleeping, like a new born child.  Her name is Lola.  She is not mine.

"Just five more minutes..." I thought to myself over and over, like I do when I hit snooze on my alarm clock in the morning.  I gazed at the myriad of green while Lola burrowed her nose into my neck, breathing heavily.  

"Is that a Pit?" a young group of African -American  kids asked as they walked by.  "Yes" I answered, "she's a Pit Bull".  "Can we hold her, pet her?" they asked.  "Yes.." I answered "but only for a second...".

My life is spiraling out of control.