With all of the stuff happening to us, I should be writing more than ever. It's just not high on my priority list. I kicked apart our old black toilet, loaded it in the car, loaded an old microwave, caught a bat in my basement and loaded it into a box, and watched my methed-out neighbors take turns swinging a pick-axe into an old tree trunk. All by 9:30 a.m.
I'm just wondering where they are gonna swing that thing when there's no stump left? Their dog? An annoying addict? I'm not too worried, I'm loading my truck up on Wednesday and leaving them to their wacko existence. I also have St. Paul's finest staking out their house, so hopefully something comes of it.
I will miss my other friends and neighbors dearly (the Jamisons, Augustino and Tony Torres, and the d-trains). I just hope I have some good peeps on my new block. It will be hard to beat my Earl street crew. I'll have to drown out my sorrows with a handcrafted beer and a Brewers game. A pale and thin substitute.
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