Psst. You have a minute? Just a minute?
What if I were to tell you that I could, absolutely free and by way of my morning commute’s playlist, predict your future?
Not the long-range future, of course. No, no, no. That’s just crazy. The immediate future!
What the heck. Indulge me.
Boots or Hearts by The Tragically Hip
Karn Evil 9 by Emerson Lake and Palmer
Oh My God by Kaiser Chiefs
Chelsea Dagger by The Fratellis
D is for Dangerous by Arctic Monkeys
Barracuda by Heart
Golden Age by TV on the Radio
And there you have it, and what it is, I can’t say here. Let’s just say that that groove you’ve been looking for? It’s comin’ for ya this weekend.
So! Where were we? Oh, yes: the Friday diversion.
If you’ll recall, the last two Fridays have been dedicated to the Beverage-y Hillbillies, a square-headed family of front-yard-dwelling yokels that moved into the neighborhood a while back.
Today’s Episode: Boris Gets a Job!
No, not really. That would be silly. But still, who’s to say that anything you do, repeatedly and in the hope of money, is not a job?
Last we contemplated the variables of the human condition, Head Number One (referred to as “Boris”) was seen running down the center of the street in front of the house, Pamplona-style, juggling a pair of home stereo speakers he had apparently stolen from the driver of a Lincoln Continental.
It was early June; and Willie and I had purchased a ridiculous number of flowers of both the annual and the perennial variety and were busy stuffing the flower boxes that line the first and second floors of the duplex.
I had just finished smearing a large swath of dirt across my forehead when I heard someone creep up behind me.
I spun around.
“Hey,” he smirks. “Do you have an extra five bucks I can have?”
What? There’s such a thing as an “extra” five bucks now?
So I say what I always say when I’m confused: “Huh?”
Bless his heart, he repeats the request. “Do you have five bucks I can have?”
“No,” I said.
“How about three?”
Willie comes around the house carrying a pallet of Lobelia. “No,” I say.
Boris changes tack. “How about you? Huh? 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?”
I turn away. “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.