Ten Dollar Withdrawal-(The Cove)

You may fondly remember the past due balance of that affair: It's been rolling around my thoughts for quite sometime and because of that man at the bank, I can recall it quite well. His Gallagher-esque appearance and dangly cross earring, was enough for me to remember that you loved to eat tuna before before bed. I can even remember how your hot breath escaped the whiskers of your handlebar moustache as we hit flesh to flesh. Thank you for that trip into the city. Thank you for that movie.

Le Turd

Smile. You're a complete fraud and everyone knows it. I've heard you speaking Spanish to the busboys and the girls at the register--you don't fool me.

You're not toned enough, you're not poor enough. Give up the ghost.

Jicama

I keep telling my mother that it's only temporary. It's inexpensive and quaint. She insists that it'll start that way, then I'll get a temporary job, and pick up an inexpensive habit. Soon I'll find a girl that's quaint and then I'll be there forever.

My mother is probably right. My roommate is recovering from fifteen years of something; I've seen two drug deals go down here: minor transactions (by bicycle of course). There was also a fight. I caught the whole thing while en route to make a fool of myself with an ex-girlfriend. With every punch the white man took the face, he lost an article of clothing. It were as if the other guy were swinging and swatting. Perhaps it was the friction caused by his punches that were enough to unbuckle the man's belt, untie his laces, and pull off his knickers. By the third punch, that poor sap's prick was out and against the pavement.

The children and dogs here are almost one in the same; unattended and unclothed. They do not fear broken glass, garbage or the cold. They are unlike anything I have ever witnessed. They are almost as brave as the addicts and street sweepers.

I don't think my mother knows about any of this. If she did, I'd have four boxes of groceries delivered to my house almost instantaneously. That's how she copes with me living in a seedy neighborhood, she buys me groceries and not necessarily the healthy ones either. It's like I turned six when I moved out. She's keeping me mum with Hawaiian Punches and Cheetos. I'm serious about this.

But if I told her that I thought these groceries were meant for a kindergartner she'd cry. I hate to see her cry over Cheetos. Plus I really do like Cheetos, it's just I'd rather have some avocado first.

Come to think of it, if I told her about my job(s) and love life, she'd really cry. Instead of groceries I'd have shit ton of homemade meals delivered to my door. My landlord would think I was on some kind of Jenny Craig deal. After he'd finish picking out which of the meals he'd like, he'd come upstairs, walk-in on me and my roommate fucking and ask for the rent.

Splitting Seeds

I say this with the upmost certainty: I broke up the happy marriage of a lesbian couple. I know this because she keeps looking at me behind the counter of the deli. It's as if she goes out of her way to make it known that she's looking at me. For example, when she slices the boiled ham, she doesn't even look at the slicer, instead she makes sure that I'm staring at her, and I am.

Now about the part with her being married, well someone told me she was and the rings on her ring finger are evidence enough. I passed math and I can put two and two together; she's married.

In fact I think I saw her partner just yesterday. They were taking break together and I happened to walk by them and she rolled her eyes. I think she was nervous that I'd blow her cover. I didn't.

And as for their break-up, well immediately after seeing them both, her partner abruptly left and walked out. We then resumed our aggressive staring bout.

What to Do at Twenty Three/ Do I smell a new Career?

What to Do at Twenty Three While Living at Home.

I have no idea what to do with myself. There's only so much media and pornography one can take

in at one sitting.

(I'd say about five to ten minutes given my track record.)
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Do I smell a new career?

I've decided to stop calling myself an artist, a skateboarder, and an entrepreneur, as well as all of the other things I refer to myself as, that way I can make some space for my newest title:

Re-Furbished Vaccuum Repairsmen Specialist.

It's been a passion of mine for some years now and I figured now's my time to shine.

Point being:

-No one has any cash on hand for a shady latina maid with

sticky fingers.

-Some vaccuums have lifetime warranties.

-Due to recent advances in technology, top of the line

vaccuums can also get into hard to reach areas that other

cleaning supplies can't.

-I live above a vaccuum repair shop( No transportation to work required).

- I only have a G.E.D and 1/2 of an associates from a community college.

- I can wear practically whatever I want to work.

- If David Oreck's been in business for one hundred years, why can't I get wet too?

As far as I can see, it's a win, win situation.