Today was a chore day. Do this, do that. You people who live in apartments have got it made. Drinking all day like it was game seven forever. Well, that is what I did when I lived in an apartment. Now I drink more like it is game six forever.
My once empty house is more like a big overflowing dumpster now. Every now and then it needs emptying so we can fill it back up with shit.
As I filled up bag after bag, the Hammer followed me around until the day warmed up so much she had to lay down and just watch. Eventually, when I was nearly all done, I got kind of thirsty and asked Sonja,"Would you like to take me to the pub?"
She did alright.
The pub was quiet. A few smokers outside drinking in the sun; a few non-smokers inside wishing there was hockey on the televisions instead of golf, baseball and stock car racing.
I drank my pitcher, Sonja drank her wine. The satellite radio station played Van Halen's "Jump." I guess that is a summer song. The summer of 1984, motherfuckers.
When we got home Sonja had a nap. I had to wake her up before she burned up in the sun.
I paid my dog off for her patience with a walk into the neighbourhood woods. We had not gone far when I heard the sound of a bird whack, whack, whacking. My ears told my eyes where to look for the woodpecker working a dead birch tree. When I looked at him he got shy and took off. There are lots of other dead trees to whack.
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