The weed whackers were out in
force. They came from South of the Border and drove up in trucks with trailers
for the mowers. A holy racket took place. Mucho trabaho over nothing. I was
stuck on one tricky paragraph that didn’t want to scan. Outside, it sounded
like an F-16 landing in the street. I hoped it was one of ours. I looked out
the door and saw grass in mid air, its life cut short. Clouds of dust covered my seven-cylinder
Chevy wagon. Now, I thought, I’d have to wait for a rainstorm to clean it up.
Most authors have some sort of
writer’s block but not me. I am held to lower standards. Plus, I don’t have a
publisher or an agent. That sucks. I post my work on a blog that pays tens cent
per piece, 250 words. The next day another troop of lawn manicurists arrived at
another neighbor’s yard. I was waiting for the nectarines to ripen when I heard
footsteps on the porch. I reached for a kitchen knife. It was the mailman with
my monthly bills. We instructed each other to ‘Have A Good One’ and I retreated
back to my sofa chair with my knife. I decided to kick up the espresso machine
to help finish my essay on garden tools. It started out well then trailed off
into a diatribe about how rap music sucks. I know more about hip-hop than you
might think since I reside in Philadelphia – this explains why I don’t have an
agent. I used to listen to DJ John Peel (may he rest in peace) in London in the
Eighties when rap and hard-core off-set one another. Sampling was new and
totally connected to post-modern theories. See Beastie Boys. What did I say
about trailing off?
Later, I stared out the window when
I noticed the din subsiding. Always a bad sign, staring out the window. Hours
drift by in a minute. I forced myself back to my Venus-on-a-Halfshell lap-top
and finished the article about a chainsaw on a stick for hard to reach twigs.
It was louder than an Egyptian F-16. I imagined a Mig-19 in fifth gear. I made note of this in my consumer report
for Candy’s Man. The next day the review returned via a black-cloud. I had been
summarily dismissed. You may wonder how a content provider can be fired by someone
they’ve never met? The next article was a very short essay about faceless-assholes who fire work-at-home creatives.
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