We'll Hang It On The Wall

I wake up wondering why mornings have to be so bloody wretched. Even a Friday morning seems unworkable at the tender moments of dawn. Then the thought crosses my mind that the unfortunate looking man at the Newsstand has sold the only copy of Country Life and wonder whether it's even worth my time stopping in. At least it gets me off the bus early. Yesterday morning my Christ it was like sitting in a cloud of stench. The whole way there. I even wondered if it was me for a trifle second then snapped out of that delusion. And my work has decided to stop paying for the local bus pass and is opting to partially subsidize to regional pass to accommodate the people that commute from Tukwilla or where-the-fuck. Puddles! But maybe I should just get used to walking. Avoid the tiresome grind altogether.

The guys at the coffee shop couldn't get around to making my Iced Dictator because they were all caught up in the art exhibition going on all over the walls. I myself am inclined to disregard coffee house wall scramblings altogether. Their ubiquity renders them unartful, but hey what do I know. Then they had to talk about the art scene generally blah blah, and then finally one of the more astude boys realized they had a drink to make. You wonder why anyone turned the lights on at all.

They hadn't sold the only precious issue of Country Life so at least I have that tender mercy. Fine feature on Houhton. And the weekend. And Compadre getting ever closer. There's also the wholesale destruction and ruin. I wanna throw Compadre right at those art house coffee slingin' skinny denim birds. We'll call it situational art and charge buckets for it.

And finally, you must not think I have anything to say about this vulgar nastiness...