Sinister: So we paid the leccy bill, we got the shopping (and we still had some)

[rob]

so here i am, roused from the nursery, a little dazed. blink.

i had a bad habit, and it involved leaving my new-ish guitar in the corner
for weeks at a time. but i snapped it (the habit, thankfully), and
have since acquainted myself enough with the open chords to squawk out
TIJAMRS. all this leaves the tips of my fingers feeling like i laid them
out in front of a freight train.

but rehabilitation was not far off, in the form of the enormous thrift
store known as The Bins. here the clothes are not on racks, but in
deep bins, and fingers are free to roam in search of dirty
treasures. shopping's better when you have to wash your hands
afterwards. The Bins work like this: employees wheel clothes out, people
sift through them for a few hours, then the clothes are whisked to the
back where they are compacted into cubes--six feet by six feet by six
feet.

rumor is that the clothes are shipped off to Africa, but it's a bit of a
ways from Portland to there. most of the garments merit immediate
incineration. but from amongst those i dug:

a spiffy child's tamborine that has feet on it
a pair of New Balances
a brown and orange beanie
a hat that might make me upstanding: labeled "Country Gentleman - Imported
British Fabrics"
a leather paper-case (this the man at the cash register checked to make
sure i was not concealing anything within)
the cover to the Human League's "Human" 7-inch.
7 mismatched Argyle socks ("you don't see those much these 
days" --employee)
1 striped sock
1 cowboy shirt
1 pair, black wrangler jeans

all this i had quite a time stuffing into my bag. outside it was rainy,
but i got the full fender setup on my bike a few weeks ago, so i put on my
red blinkie light and headed home. along the way, i passed over a bridge,
and a hulking freight train was passing underneath, so i rode down and
watched it trail off. i like to watch the graffiti.

Back on the road, some thug in a sedan nearly hit me, and i tried my
damnedest to chase him down, to pound on the trunk, but the louse ran the
stop sign and sped off.

sighs and soap,

 rob

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