>Mondays are my days off. I relish this fact. Sundays are my busiest and most trying days of the week for me at work, and I enjoy the repose that ensues on the first day of what is my weekend.
at 7:30 a.m.
I don’t fault the leaf-blower, even though I just called him a fuckface. He’s just doing his job.
I fault the bastard property manager Mr. “If you don’t keep your dog on a leash at all times I will make you get rid of it” fascist power-tripping piece of shit “you have too many flowerpots on your balcony” man.
Fortunately, the maintenance man, who is cool as shit, has his utility garage right below my balcony, and he likes my dog. When he found out other people were parking in my parking spot, he put a sign with my apartment number and a “others will be towed” sign. He is a man who gets things done, and is happy to do it. And my dog likes him, which is saying a lot, as Duke hates everyone. He is indeed cool as shit.
So I will ask him, not the rosy-faced humpty-dumpty lookalike property manager, what’s up with the gasoline-powered wake-up call. Even if he can’t do anything about it, he has the ear of the shithead who can.
For now I just want one banned. It’s 9:30 and the fucker is still out there. Wish I had a BB gun. I’d shoot out the damn gas tank. Although in doing so I might kill the operator, and then I’d be convicted of homicide, which is a high price to pay for sleep-deprivation-induced discontent.