DC Playwrights

after his third mojito,
second pilgrimage to the shell shack
and sleeveless t-shirt shoppe,
squirrel asked:
“how long have we been in florida?”

“two days,” i said.
“feels like two months,”
replied the squirrel.

“i guess that’s why retirees come here.”
i explained.
“when you only have about ten years left,
it’ll feel like fifty.”*

(*attribution: kitty giorgio)