-Old, cold, pizza breakfast.
or
-Waking up at all.
If you become emotionally attached to a delicate tool, I assume it’s a bit obvious that most of the time, dropping this frail extension of yourself onto a hard surface, will render an undesirable experience. I’ll assume it’s also implied that in purchasing an item of such fragility, certain precautions should be heeded in its use, to avoid stated experiences. But, what the hell do I know?
Potential customer of the day:
“Looking for anything specific?” I invite.
“Yeah, something that won’t break,” guffawing to himself. Guffaw, guffaw. I’ve never heard that one before; you’re a real god-damned riot. “But seriously, do you have any that won’t break?” Glass is clearly indestructible, why else would you be replacing it?
In deluded empathy, “Well sir, I’m sorry. We don’t sell sippy-cups, or sippy-cup accessories.”
Wholly unamused, the man stared at me for the larger half of a minute, and marched back out to his miserable pipe-less life… or the glass shop down the street; as much as I care to, there’s no way I’ll ever know.
10/10 Customer satisfaction. Every time.
Reblogged from allisonwilliamsmusic
Hobart Smith - Last Chance
Just learned this tune. Hobart’s version, of course… it’s so simple and fucking beautiful. I wish I was pickin’ it with my grandfather on his porch right now.
Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Reblogged from lettersofnote
In 1973, whilst compiling the book, “John Keats’s Porridge: Favorite Recipes of American Poets,” Victoria McCabe asked the author and poet Edward Abbey to contribute his favourite recipe to the project. Thankfully, he agreed, and soon responded with the following — a recipe for “Hardcase…
This is actually some-what viable, and I’ve done something similar with a large group of people in the woods.
Ahhh… the woods.
I miss the woods.
From Little
This was wonderful to wake up to.
Progression of neglect part 3. Shit camera, but nearly everything is roped and sectioned.
