Checking all the AC units in an underfunded public school for gremlins
or
building a steakhouse out of cotton swabs and earwax
or
charging a rhinoceros with grand larceny for the theft of pretentious stereo equipment
or
engineering the perfect dinner party, only to lose your sole lucky sock twelve minutes before the first guest’s arrival
or
a quick spritz from the produce section while you’re on your way to the local rock opera group’s weekly public dress rehearsal
or
notching your belt for no reason in particular, other than to impress strangers who are peculiar enough to examine your belt for such markings (you run in a strange crowd)
or
listing the daily indignities experienced by your average woman artist as you’re also trying to figure out the way to San Jose
or
just being the stagnant kind of person who won’t listen to reason when faced with the unfettered opinions brought forth by the more stable individuals in your life.
WHARVED 