Woes of a Dull Rose

     I met a strange man today. He sported a trench coat and hat.

     He asked me if I could spare my time to make a little money.

     I laughed at the man and asked him, "Sir, if I had any time to begin with, do you think I'd spend it in a place like this?"

     The patio on which we stood was beautiful. It was lined with black metal railing and strings of lights. Red roses rained down from a place I could not identify.

     "What is wrong with this place, dear? This is the most magnificent site in all the land." The man informed me.

     "Perhaps," I shrugged, "However I've never ventured outside of this land, so how can I know which site is the best?"

     The man laughed at me, "Every being on this planet is in agreement. There is no better place than the place you stand right now."

     I leaned against the cold metal railing, "I don't much care for the opinion of others. I've never been one to side with the majority. Anyways, I know that you're only going to pay me for sex, so why don't you move on and preach elsewhere?"

     The man left after that.

     I realize that this may well be the most astonishing location I will ever come across, but I doubt that I will ever reach that conclusion. I have spent my whole life on this spot, and when you spend each day pricking your finger on the same old flower, the thorns of even the most breathtaking rose can become dull.