My brother and me made some progress last weekend.
I know little brother had wanted to help me build the whole deck but a man’s gotta know his limitations and I certainly know him and ours when we get together and theres beers involved, so I’d asked Phabulous Phil to put the rest of the girders and the deck joists up last week leaving my brother and me free to concentrate on the decking and the stairs and I was dreaming about all the concrete I get to hand-mix this weekend when-
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-my phone rang. WHERE ARE YOU?? the currently-out-of-town Miss Carol shrieked. THE KILLER STORM IS HEADED YOUR WAY she screamed. I had no idea what’d been going on. I’d been blissfully working away doing my thing. ARE CUTTER AND TUG OK???? CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU GET HOME!! she wailed and hung up.
Mr. Antic and Mrs. Frantic punched me in the face.
My blissfulness burst bubble-like and I ran to MR.GREENE. hurling myself homeward in a souped up hip-hop, mostly profane, sprint for home to save the maybe cowering storm ravaged Cutter and Tug. I cussed everything.
And as I drove I did the usual dickhead shit.
I rode peoples bumpers with all my lights on high until they moved over, giving me the middle finger “you’re Number One” salute and smoking tires at stoplights like a doped up teenager racing his first hopped-up-testosterone-laden kiddie car.
Yup. I was that marginal guy you want to empty a clip into.
And I got home, and I walked the sodden dogs in the drenching rain and took a shower and it all stopped and the sun came out at sunset and I realized with a stupid giddiness I’d survived yet another non-event and how wonderful it is to be alive and I thought I’d just grab another coldie when-
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– I remembered how much concrete I get to hand-mix this weekend. So anyway.
Where was I?
oceandoggy.com 