Walking my dog downtown I noticed the pink trees are now green.

Walking my dog downtown I noticed the pink trees are now green. I watched a woman with a brown Crown Vic and a rumbling muffler turn right. Cigarette in her left hand, sun in her eyes. She looked like her name could be Muriel or Edna. The way she held her cigarette hand poised in the air, nails polished blood red. I envisioned her paneled living room. A teal La-Z-Boy with canary yellow crocheted blanket draped over the back. She'd be parked in front of the TV watching soap operas. Her puzzle pieces of a panda and daffodils on a fold-out card table nearly complete. Overflowing ashtray of Virginia Slim butts nearby. Framed photo of her son age 2 in red overalls drinking grape juice in a sand box.  Her ancient Chihuahua, named Eduardo after her first husband, on the couch. Muriel loved a good pool-side picnic. She always would bring her famous potato salad with the jug of white Gallo wine, some bug repellent, and a case of cigarettes in the trunk.