Maybe I’m just furious about the prospect of babysitting the eight-year-old from h*** tomorrow. As I mentioned before, she is the eighth in her broken, subsidized home; she knows more than God; and everything she wants is everything she sees – well just the expensive stuff. “No” means, “Do it until it breaks.” I suffer the anxiety of memories of when the punk stole the keys and was found playing in my car minutes before the clutch started making awful noises.
Coming home last night, I had to dodge drunks staggering across one of the main drags. They were difficult to see and difficult to anticipate. The guy at the gas station remarked, “They just do that.” This morning, I got panhandled. Tomorrow, we’re supposed to have a half-naked lady celebration downtown.
Now, the Citizen-Times reports that some stupid driver injured a poor soul when “loss prevention personnel” chased him into traffic last night. It could be the only reason I stick around is because nobody else has the patience to sit through the protracted Asheville City Council meetings.
