It was another day that started out the same

It was the third February of the month. I was waiting for the milk to be delivered. I stood by the front door, pigeon toed. The doorbell was broken. A familiar voice said something to me from the kitchen. She was chopping carrots. Every time the knife hit the cutting board it sounded satisfied.

I looked out onto Main St. it was a quiet day. There were no people to be seen, other than the shadows of widows waiting for the milk behind their curtains. Two brown street cows lazily chewed plastic bags from the overflowing trash cans. Their jaws zigzagged. Each had a halo of excited flies circling them. Like long- legged helicopters.