This is my REAL entry for Quickly’s prompt. I turned it into a prose rendition of my commute. These things ALL really happened, but not necessarily on the same day. ^_^
As I open my front door, I hear mad chirps and twitters emanating from the mesquite in the front yard; two neighborhood cats on the prowl for birds, and the birds don’t like it. I get in my car, noting the dust spots from the rain storm last night, that have been matted blowing dust later that night. (We get very localized showers in Arizona.) My husband hoses the windshield and the sharp scent of dirt and water comes in through the vents. I wave goodbye and turn into the main street. I see a man waiting to cross. He is well-muscled and burly, tanned and healthy. And he has four small dogs on leashes at his heels, three dachshunds and a Shi Tzu. He is also carrying some baggies. I smile and let him cross, wondering if they are his dogs or his significant other’s. I approach the school and see the young crossing guard dash out with his stop sign just in time to guard the crosswalk for a boy on a bicycle. The timing is just right and I don’t even have to slow down. I nod to him as I pass. The air is so fresh this morning, I open the windows and smell the soft, delightful air of the golf course as I drive by. I pass the stadium and the hospital of Old Town and contemplate my commute time. My smart phone is apparently stalking me because it tells me my commute is only 20 minutes today if I take my preferred route. Creepy that it knows that. I drive past bakeries and canals and schools, I prefer city streets to the freeway, and enjoy the balmy spring air. I hear someone’s bass turned way up as they pass me in their Jeep with the top down. A dog, tongue lolling, grins at me from the back seat. As I near the business district, I spot a man in dress-pants, dress-shoes, dress-shirt and tie, with the shirttails out and tie flapping as he accelerates through the crosswalk on his skateboard. A bus rumbles as I pass it, but since it’s a green bus, no diesel fumes ruin the moment. I turn right and my car climbs the incline to the office, which is near one of the mountains. I pass three old ladies, power-walking, and a crop of teens from the high school jogging, the melodic hum of voices brief as I speed by. At the bus stop, I laugh as I spy two guys, I kid you not, do-si-do-ing as they see the bus approach. I drive up the little hill into the parking lot, the pavement is yellow with blossoms from the palo verde trees, and I close up the windows before I climb out, knowing they would blow into the car, scattering pollen everywhere. I brace myself for my day and put a smile on.