City Mouse/Country Mouse

In the old parable of the city mouse and country mouse, I seem to recall that the city mouse was the one with miniature sunglasses, dressed as the rodent version of Hugh Heffer...straight from directing the cum shot.

Extemement slick and full of sin.

The country mouse wore overalls and had some rip in his clothing which had not been mended yet. He walked with a slower gate, spoke with more intent, was clearly more wise and chewed on a piece of straw.

They recognized their connection but were unwilling to admit that there were things about each other's lifestlyles that they envied, refusing to admit to second guessing.

So they switch, somehow, they come to this idea and mutually agree.

Off country mouse drives, in a some tiny muscle car...toward the city. While city mouse pours himself a glass of lemonade and settles himself into the swinging chair hanging from the porch ceiling.

Country mouse gets propositioned by crack whores, spends way too much money on coffee and nearly gets run over a few times, before deciding that city life is not for him.

City mouse steps in cow patties, is awakened at dawn by roosters and can't get any service from his cell phone. Decides he needs to get back where he belongs.



The story may or may not go something like that. I can't remember. But that to me, sounds right. I feel right in between those mice. A little bit country, a little bit rock n roll, so to speak. Some days I truly wonder what the hell I've got to offer this city, this place of quickly paced people and churning productivity...where people kneel down at the altar of task accomplishment daily and recieve something that keeps them going till the next speedy day.