Asheboro, NC - Environment (Post 1)

I am a fence. Today was a weird day.

My routine is simple. I wake up at fence o’clock, I separate physical spaces into discrete parts, I go to bed -- also at fence o’clock.

The day began like any other. The grizzly bear climbed out of her cage and waved hi, while the artificial geyser (great guy) had already started geysing.

Suddenly, around fence o’clock, 11 loud humans walked up. I watched carefully as they sat outside myself, pouring brown syrupy liquid into containers and onto brushes. Finally, I thought. A place to get a drink around here.

Without warning, they started applying the liquid to my body.

What the heck?

A word to the wise, humans: Just because I’m a fence doesn’t mean I don’t feel. When you start choking my skin with gloop, I chafe. When you brush me back and forth, I tickle. When you press your rolling pins into my sides, I become so beside myself that I almost forget I am literally always beside myself.

Was I looking old? Maybe. Was I in need of a makeover? Perhaps. Was I consulted before these 11 humans changed the very nature of my existence? Of course not. No one ever asks what the fence thinks.

And so it went. The 11 strangers spent hours pressing me, knocking me, coating me in a shade of brown I had not seen since my youth. Ah, to be young! To remember that time (tree o’clock) before the buzzsaw laid me low!

After they left, I glanced myself in the reflection of a tour bus. Admittedly, I looked good. The humans will no doubt marvel at my tree-like complexion. They will gasp with renewed wonder at the faithfulness with which I separate spaces into discrete parts. Will humans realize the service these 11 performed? No. Yet they will appreciate my splendor all the same.

But please, next time: Ask.



  1. Bizarre, but cool!

  2. Swank, did you write this? Inquiring mom wants to know?