The music is blasting, Noah is wearing a football jersey, and I'm trying to down as much coffee as possible before leaving for one of my three jobs. It's morning, yes, morning I think.
I can't remember (anything) whether or not I've talked about the roster of homeless men who set up shop outside my building/in my yard. I know that I've brought it up at staff meetings, but internet, I may have thought at one time or another that it was inappropriate to share. Anyway, there's the young gang who scowls at me and then talks on their cell phones. There's the crack conniseur who can smoke rock 18 times between calling the cops and having the cops arrive. There's also the rather harmless man who likes to sleep naked, his filthy sleeping bag barely covering his junk.
Okay, so when I started this post there was going to be a reason for talking about the homeless clan...and I can't really remember what that reason was. I have an inkling that I was going to attempt some sort of parallel --that my coffee consumption is just no longer doing the trick, much like their crack use.
But who knows, my memory has taken a trip to Exhaustion-ville, which is really not much of a ville but more like an impound lot. You show up, and you're like hey, can I just get my memory back? And that dude behind the little glass box is like, well, what's the serial code? And you're all, what? Serial code? Wtf? I don't remember.
And then that little man just laughs, a hearty laugh that shakes his whole body, and he looks at you. Get some rest kid, then you'll remember.
Oh, thanks, philosopher! I couldn't figure that one out. Rest? I DON'T HAVE MONEY FOR REST SO I'LL JUST WORK THREE JOBS AND SAVE UP!
I think I'm going in circles.