A Jogger Passes/ A Jogger Enters

A Jogger Passes
A jogger passes by 63-33 Forest Avenue every morning, between 6:30 am and 6:37 am. She never arrives before 6:30 am and never after 6:37 am, always in between. It can be drizzling, raining, humidity so thick you can cut your hair with a butter knife, or just dry air like the air you breathe through your nose when you have the flu (you know that kind of air), the jogger is there between those times given.
She never fails to glance over at the red brick, three-family house, full of maroon awnings and where there is a long-black gate guarding its property as well as their cars in the driveways. The black gate is more like a shiny, black patent-leather stiletto color, surrounding the red brick, three-family story house with the maroon, or pooh color, awnings covering each window. There are also red bricks surrounding the house’s small garden. It has a tree with branches that are as strong as a 5’9 man weighing 110 pounds, showing his “guns”. It’s that thick.
Between 6:30 am and 6:37 am, the jogger will see a dog running across that house’s yard, following the direction as the jogger as if wanting to follow her if he were led out of the gate. The dog’s bark can be used to wake up prisoners at their camp; only that dog is not your usual German Sheppard, but a white Pit bull. The Pit bull is full of cheerfulness, especially that early in the morning. His barks are loud, but not vicious like his cousin, Cujo. The dog does look huge, like a polar bear cub running across its pond in the Bronx Zoo.
It is now 6:38 am, and the jogger has long passed the white Pit bull with the loud bark and everything pertaining to 63-33 Forest Avenue.

A Jogger Enters
A jogger passes by 63-33 Forest Avenue every morning, between 6:30 am and 6:37 am. She never arrives before 6:30 am and never after 6:37 am, always in between. This morning was different, for she pulled a muscle right in front of the red brick house at 6:36 am. She decided to stop and rest by the black gate surrounding the house. As she was hanging on, she saw that in their front yard was a wooden bench. The jogger decides enter the black gate to rest there.
What the jogger thought at first of the shiny, black patent-leather stiletto colored gate, was no more. The gates lacked luster, the paint was rusting from behind, and some paint chips had stuck on behind the jogger’s hand. She sat on the light as brown sugar-coated, wooden bench and gazed at the small garden with the “strong” tree. She underestimated the strength of the tree’s branches. It is still winter and as the other trees in the neighborhood had branches so weak that you can twist them off with your fingers or let the wind blow them away, this tree had branches as strong and vital as the branches of a bamboo. The maroon colored awnings on the windows were not “pooh colored” and the purplish burgundy complimented the red brick house tremendously.
As the jogger was ready to stand up, she heard the garbage can collapse and something panting her way. It was the white Pit bull, but it did not bark at her but rather jumped on her as if hugging her. She noticed the Pit bull wasn’t completely white, for he (she checked that too), had two medium brown spots on his back that were shaped like the number 8. She sat back down, and the hazel-eyed beauty sat also, and gave her his paw, like a high-five for actually stopping by to visit him.
It is now 7:04, and the jogger still has not left the white-brown spotted Pit bull and his residence, 63-33 Forest Avenue.