I am a Dunkin Donuts mocha skim latte. I am a dirty punk rock pigeon with an oil-smeared feather-hawk. I am the train that pulls out of the station, engine pumping despite the drag of 2 million fleshy pounds in my compartments. I am the snow inviting you to hop and skip off your path and into fun. I am the morose building, windows hooded by arches, waiting to be noticed by an artful eye. I am the eye.
When I am not inanimate objects, or admiring inanimate objects, I am also a fan of those things in the left column, some of which may or may not also be inanimate objects.