the only confessional in town where you can order a 'happy ending'
Glory Holiness
if you aren't laughing yet, read over slowly, repeat until hysterics ensue
if you aren't laughing because it's not funny, i hate you
me and sarah were walking down division after the cuban food
and kept winding up in other people's houses
first we were in some guys garage in humbolt
where half the neighborhood was watching a boxing match on HBO
i was the only one in the tie
little kids of varying size scampered around the alley
trying to fuigure out the best way to get into trouble with fathers only a few feet away, but completely distracted.
everyone was leaning against an old car or in folding chairs
some guy kept accusing people of stealing his chump change
a grandfather type was yelling at a hoodlum type about smoking a blunt in his garage.
"I ain't in your garage so don't fuckin worry about it," he said, from two feet away in the alley
after a round with no solid hits we went off, teasing guard dogs on our way home
in my alley we found a treasure trove
a sailboat made of animal horns and string
a "painting" made of molded plastic -with plastic frame- of some chicks rack
new wifebeaters, unlabeled vhs tapes, a notary seal
discarded photo albums with
obituaries, bad poems, and valentine's day lingerie photos
"Hey, you kids. Are you taking things?"
"Yeah."
"What things?"
"The saiboat, some movies."
I don't know why but I felt it prudent to neglect to mention the titty picture and photo albums
"You want to come in? There's more."
He was Eastern European and drunk and weird in that same way that all landlords are weird. His name was Igor. He invited us to take more than we wanted, pointing at bags and bags of clothes, we took a couple more paintings. They belonged to an old man, who couldn't keep up anymore. And left, without his things. "Do you believe?" He asked, when Sarah picked up a painted woodcut Jesus. It's not really a woodcut but I don't know what it's actually called. Her grandmother collects them. She lied, and said that she did.
if you aren't laughing yet, read over slowly, repeat until hysterics ensue
if you aren't laughing because it's not funny, i hate you
me and sarah were walking down division after the cuban food
and kept winding up in other people's houses
first we were in some guys garage in humbolt
where half the neighborhood was watching a boxing match on HBO
i was the only one in the tie
little kids of varying size scampered around the alley
trying to fuigure out the best way to get into trouble with fathers only a few feet away, but completely distracted.
everyone was leaning against an old car or in folding chairs
some guy kept accusing people of stealing his chump change
a grandfather type was yelling at a hoodlum type about smoking a blunt in his garage.
"I ain't in your garage so don't fuckin worry about it," he said, from two feet away in the alley
after a round with no solid hits we went off, teasing guard dogs on our way home
in my alley we found a treasure trove
a sailboat made of animal horns and string
a "painting" made of molded plastic -with plastic frame- of some chicks rack
new wifebeaters, unlabeled vhs tapes, a notary seal
discarded photo albums with
obituaries, bad poems, and valentine's day lingerie photos
"Hey, you kids. Are you taking things?"
"Yeah."
"What things?"
"The saiboat, some movies."
I don't know why but I felt it prudent to neglect to mention the titty picture and photo albums
"You want to come in? There's more."
He was Eastern European and drunk and weird in that same way that all landlords are weird. His name was Igor. He invited us to take more than we wanted, pointing at bags and bags of clothes, we took a couple more paintings. They belonged to an old man, who couldn't keep up anymore. And left, without his things. "Do you believe?" He asked, when Sarah picked up a painted woodcut Jesus. It's not really a woodcut but I don't know what it's actually called. Her grandmother collects them. She lied, and said that she did.
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