Hard to believe, isn’t it, but here we are again.
Friday! Ever-lovin’ Friday! Quick, before the mood dissipates and I go back to writing fake memos from imaginary bosses!
O Mighty iPod! You’ve given me the random beauty of the shuffle! What does this morning’s commute have to say about what I can expect for the weekend?
Doublewide by Southern Culture on the Skids
Shining Star by Earth Wind and Fire
Your Country by Gogol Bordello
Are You Alright? By Lucinda Williams
D is for Dangerous by Arctic Monkeys
Honky Tonkin’ by Hank Williams
Sunshine Superman by Donovan
Excellent! We’re going to need several Navajo blankets, a gallon of water and a bag of peyote buttons.
Meet me in the park.
So! Where were we? Oh, yes: the Friday diversion.
If you’ll recall, the last two Fridays have been dedicated to the Jefferson Hillbillies, a frighteningly square-headed family of front-yard-dwelling yokels that moved into the neighborhood a while back.
Today’s episode: The Jefferson Hillibillies Get a Job!
No, not really. That would be silly. But still, who’s to say that anything you do, repeatedly, in the hope of money, is not a job?
Not longer after Head Number One (hereafter referred to as “Boris”) cut through the neighbor’s yard juggling a stereo speaker he had apparently stolen from the driver of a Lincoln Continental, he appeared again, sans speaker.
It was early June; and Willie and I had purchased a ridiculous number of flowers, both of the annual and the perennial variety, and were busy stuffing the flower boxes that line the first and second floors of the duplex.
It’s a tax write-off, you know.
I had just finished, as I recall, smearing a large swath of dirt across my forehead in an attempt to get my hair out of my eyes when I heard someone creep up behind me.
“Creep” is the optimal word here.
“Hey. Do you have an extra five bucks I can have?”
What? There’s such a thing as an “extra” five bucks?
I turned around to see Boris.
I say what I always say when I’m confused.
“Do you have five bucks I can have?”
What? Who is this guy?
“No,” I said.
“How about three?”
Willie came around the house carrying a pallet of Lobelia.
“How about you? You got five bucks?”
Willie’s face takes on the look he normally reserves for finding yakked-up hairballs with his bare feet.
“Five bucks. You got five bucks I can have?”
“He doesn’t even have five bucks I can have,” I mutter.
Willie shakes his head. “I’m working in the yard, man. I got nothin’.”
“How about a ride to Target then? Can you give me a ride to Target?”
“Willie,” I say. “Set that pallet in the porch. It’s time for lunch.”
Ha! There’s nothing so annoying that I can’t ignore it.