Yesterday:
Basement door slams. Truck pulls in. Truck’s window sticker displays a line drawing of a person, naked, head up ass. Sticker reads “Your Head is Where?” Another sticker reads “What Fear?” Dashboard contains several wadded up napkins, crumpled cigarette packs, a Wendy’s cup, probably with brown spit and a napkin in it. Basement door slams. Another truck backs up, diagonally in the front parking space, right in front of our apartment. 2 rednecks, one a hillbilly and another who I am assuming is his son. Truck bed is filled with boxes, some taped, some open, a boom box, a golf bag and clubs. Basement door slams. Hillbilly son smirks when my dog barks at him, probably making fun of her in his inbred mind. Hillbilly dad chain smokes while carrying boxes, ashing wherever they fall off. Basement door slams. Rednecks disregard the sidewalk and walkway to the basement and choose to walk through the grass and through the flowerbed that lines the walkway to the basement. Ashing. Ashes falling. Ashes everywhere. Basement door slams. “Yak yak yak yak yak yak” says hillbilly number 1. “Yak yak yak yak yak” says hillbilly son. “Yak yak yak yak” says residents of next door apartment. “Ha ha ha ha ha” says all. Basement door slams. Erin and Justin leave. Basement door probably slams. Both trucks leave. Erin and Justin return home to a nice cigarette butt in front of their door mat.

Today:
Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams. Basement door slams.

Days till closing: 17

It cannot come fast enough. Your head is where?

Enjoy today’s haiku:

Express checkout line
Just 20 items or less
Or, ya know…90