There sitting in the middle of the smelly green goop they call gator ville. It was big and old, moist and starting to mold from all the algae coming from beneath it. At night the old man sits there elevated a couple feet from the gators. Hes listening to the calmness and frogs croaking in the distance so faintly. The trees swaying in the wind creeking to the rhythm of the croaking frogs. Hes just sitting there in his rocking chair trying to see the stars through the thick canopy of trees above him. He hears the rustling of gators scrambling for food in the middle of the night.
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