“… The record shows, I took the blows, and did it my way!” The voice of Frank Sinatra blare off my phone as I scrub the floor.
I fell in love with the song the day father died. It came on the radio as I scrubbed his blood off the floor while mother buried him.
I downloaded and played it when I scrubbed off mother’s blood too.
I have had to play it over and over again, and so I know it offhand.
The song is my muse. It simply inspires me.
Whistling along, I head for the backyard to reconcile a man with his wife who wouldn’t accept that her husband was simply missing when I hear a suspicious knock on the door.
Putting away the shovel, I head for the door but not before putting the song on replay.
I may have more scrubbing to do.
Image Credit: junkyardarts