The Reason I Like Cats

Around one forty in the a.m., I decided to go and fry up some burgers. I head downstairs and walk over to the fridge. Now, I like to think I have a good grasp of what footfalls sound like. On tile floor, it should fall somewhere between a click and a thud. About a foot away from the freezer door, wherein the meaty discs lay waiting, I put my foot down and hear a "squelch".

You'd think it would be easy to clean dog shit off a tile floor, but this little fucker must've been eating paste and elastic. What a wonderful thing to wake up to. Instead of a quarter pound of juicy beef, I spend ten minutes with rubber gloves and boiling water, trying to salvage one of my good shoes.

At least the dachshund had the common sense to avert his eyes. Shows that he had at least a twinge of remorse.

Heh, the main problem was that I could call him a son of a bitch, but it'd just be a fact, not an insult.

Oy

Fuckteenth day out in the suburban wasteland. I've run out of money, and my tobacco supplies are gone. The hospital never called back about my job, so I'm back to combing monster and careerbuilder. I even went looking at the park disrict website.
Desperate times, kids. Stay in school.

Gefilte Mockingbird

When you bike to a Dominick's at midnight to exchange coins for a cash voucher, you know you've made some mistakes. I needs me a job and I needs it now.

I oughta put on an Obama mask and run around holding a sign that says "change" in one hand and an empty cup in the other. I'll probably get lynched by all the Beaver Cleavers and Brady Bunches out here in Whitesville.

Vey iz mir....

November, you icy bitch....

The temp has gone from chilly to bitter. There isn't as much wind out here as there is in Chicago, but little Oswego's doing her best. Fortunately, I remember the old Russian magic that my father passed down to me, as was passed down to him. A russian man is not bothered by the cold, as long as he looks and acts miserable.

Na Strovia, kids. May your beards e'er be soaked in Vodka instead of vomit.

Compaq Presario

I'm currently rolling cigarettes to prepare for a two-mile walk to a currency exchange so I can cash a check of minimal value.

Keep on truckin', Nate.

Happy belated birthday to me.

I suppose I can dedicate this as a present to myself. Consider it a convenient way to get back into writing.

I'm Nate.
I've been on this earth for twenty years.
I've been in this sad excuse for a town for about three weeks.
I'm already bored with it.

Sure miss Chicago.



Perfektion...