After the city laborer finished mowing, the outskirts were hemmed with grass clippings designated to the specifications per popular opinion, per tax sponsored research. The landscape inspector was equipped with spectacles containing magnified lenses to examine each grass blade, searching for a misuse of “company time,” on hands and knees, he discovered one blade half a centimeter higher than the others. He grabbed a nail clipper off his utility belt and trimmed the misfit blade until it resembled the others in length.
“There,” he stated proudly “now everything is the same.”
Cars on the lot were placed in order of best seller to least best, giving little chance for the least to become the best, but these patterns appeared to never change no matter the order.
Virgil never encountered the color purple for Dante never described it. Leading biological historians to speculate that the color purple wasn’t able for comprehension to the human eye until recently. As the color spectrum grows in understanding to human viewership, so will humans describe the new colors as always being here, for they were, without us.
Rita raked her fingers through her bag of potato chips, but ceased churning after a few rounds and removed her fingers and licked the BBQ flavoring off and dried her hands by utilizing her denim skirt as a towel. “Shucks,” she exclaimed while pouting. “What?” Her friend asked. “I can’t find a chip I like.” “I mean don’t they all taste the same?” “That’s not the point.” She explained, lifting the bag to eye level and squinting to narrow her vantage point to gain a better scope of her options. “You need the right size too…it needs to be perfect, or it won’t taste right. Ya know. Like the others?”
All detergent smells the same but it differs in name.
Differs in name,
Is the same.