advice makes an ad out of vice
I got sick of blogging. I run around the city doing illegal things I don’t want to talk about – stealing bales of cardboard from behind Safeway, tagging police cruisers, smoking Camels in Marlborough country…I can’t be talking about these things. Do I need the city to know I’m running a ring of illegal lemonade stands where a code word gets streetwise 5th graders to pour a few sloppy ounces of vodka in the mix?
How can a guy like me blog? The thing to do, the only thing I can think of, is to start talking about other people.
How about the schizophrenic guy at the coffee shop who stares everyone down trying to figure out if they work for the government or not? Who ever invites him to a party? But we all see him everytime we stop for coffee.
So I hired him. Who else will? He looks dangerous. He smokes and stares. What a combination of bad habits.
“does it make you nervous buildings are so close together here? And that they’re so tall? Cops could be in any one of them and you’d never escape.”
Thats the guy I hired because no one else will. I brought him to my house and gave him a magnet and a knife.
“anything the magnet sticks to throw in this pile. Put the rest over here. Take any electric cord and cut it off. Now go.”
He did fine. But what if he snaps someday and comes to my house to kill me. He knows me now. He may decide I’m part of the government. That I’m watching him.
Glenn the educated carpenter tells me I should drop hints about a neighbor. How they watch me with binoculars. How they put wires into my house.
“just pick someone, anyone, that he can gun down first so you have a chance.”