San Diego Reader

A great night of sleep, with an interview tomorrow at station pizza here in town.

How should I dress? How do I quell my neurotic trembling?

I know how to make pizzas, and sandwiches, but will I be the right candidate.

Suddenly there's a knock on my door, it's Kyle: "Trash day! get up, help!"

I stumble out in my thermals, look into the hall, see may, june and july wrapped in nylon, and Kyle consternated attempting to heave them up, begging "Grab a side dude! Come on, hear that!"

I listen and hear the chaos of the trash truck, like a, like a major operation, like we're going to the moon, everything ends up being a beatles tribute with Kyle.

I grab August and September, and we stuff it all out the door.

"Hey wait!" calls Kyle after the truck, miraculously the driver heard, pulls back, and in it all goes.