maybe if I lived on a farm

...I would write like this:

The continual drone of the countryside combine, the buzzing of the refrigerator at 5 am in the dark before dawn before work, the footsteps soft on the staircase of the home where you were born. The toaster clicking and the turned heads checking for singed edges. The licked lips anticipating honey covered morsels, loosened with butter, sucked on succulently before the sensuous chew, the mouth meld into liquid washed into itself like a glass of crisp white milk. The gentle screech outside of the bus driver’s door, as the children come home from school.

p.s. I live beside a 16-lane highway.

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