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.

More like this:


Ruth Newell Jan. 18, 2013 @ 8:09 p.m.

No need for those thermals now that the balmy weather's returned, eh?


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