Old Man Miller And The Case Of The Neigbor's Underwear
Time begins to bend and shift.
That’s a million-dollar smile.
A brief aside: I’m thinking about the chickens my parents raised. The raccoons started picking them off at night at one point, which angered my dad – something would have to be done, and fast. A plan was formulated: My dad would wait in the brush across from the chicken coop until he heard them rustling and then he would turn on a system of floodlights pointed directly at the coop. The startled raccoons would not know what to do with themselves and then he would shoot them. I remember lying in bed and hearing the shotgun. I don’t think they fucked with us anymore after that.
I like it at Brad’s house. He has the main floor of a house in Kits and a sweet record collection. Brad has told me he that really likes eggs a few times and that made me think of the chickens. But on this particular day, at this particular barbecue, there were no eggs or chickens, just pork.
Old man Miller’s beat up old beast.
The neighbors underwear flirt dangerously with the undying breeze.
This would be pulled pork to go in Brad’s taquitos. God-damn it was good.
A prolific pear tree.
The dips of Liana.
Sweet pea.
“Like a Safeway cart rolling down the street, like the sandal marks on the savior’s feet”.
Blossoms bloom, take away the city blues. It’s all happening.
Don’t anger the wizard.
We like the old BOTE banner better, it looks less personal now. That is just our opinion though. Don’t sell out on us mister. Cheers
Brad put eggs on our lunch today, it was delicious I tell you.
yummy! and I love sweet peas…
and I love pulled pork and tacos!
Are they trying to grow a pear in the jar? For a future attempt at some pear william?
Owen
This is a great stream of consciousness piece.
I am flattered that you think I won the great coon wars of the last century. I have other memories.
I was pissed off, righteous even. The war was just. I was technolgically advanced and a trained killer. I prepared the ambush as you remember, and caught the whole tribe in the floodlights. The image is still clear in my RNA. There was the clan, from hoary elder (about the size of a smart car) to jeuvenile punk, their eyes shining in the glare.
What happened then is the old story. The leaders dropped into the shadowed like wreiths. The young cannon fodder stood and stared at the lights. The barrage of SSG wiped them out.
I came away victorious and sad. I won the battle, but knew I could never win the war – I didn’t even want to any more. I bullt bunkers.
Yesterday I was sitting looking out of my office window down on the vine covered roof of the woodshed at one of the elder coons picking the first of this years abundant blackberries. Peace has come to the homestead.
^ your dad is badass
again excellent writing, a slice of life. keept them coming.
Post more slaka
sweet. I hope you didn’t fuck with the wizard. he fucks with me though. can’t do nothing about that.
on a different note. the banner is sweet. I do miss the colorful photos that should accompany it though. c’mon mark e roberts photo god. I’ll give you a hint why people praise god so much. he only rested on sunday.