What Brought You Here?

Friday, September 21, 2007

Moving Day

I'm halfway out of tape, but only 1/3 of the way through the boxes you brought me. You are a physicist, so I know you based your calculations on some sort of formula. I am trying to convince my myself you have developed a mathematical formula to predict laziness. 15*33foot boxes do something 30*1.53foot boxes take the squiggly doo from subject's most recent GAF score equals n(100)ft of packing tape. When tape is gone subject may stop, for this is all she is capable of.

Please remember light bulbs and the bolt cutters*. Just don't get pulled over on the way up, or you will get thrown in jail as a suspect for grand larceny and presumed meth addict. I know because I've seen it on C*O*P*S. I swear


*For getting out the emergency exit landlord keeps closed w/ padlock in memoriam to Old Lady Leary.

N.B. I did not really send this letter

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

At the drugstore, Behind the counter

I spot a sign hanging from the cigarette display: Wanted For Homicide on 82nd St. . . I see these sort of wanted/missing posters by the multitude in every store window, each time I leave the house. The only days I don't hear gunfire are those when I stay inside with the A/C on. It wouldn't be so shocking were it not obvious that it came from someone's home printer.

I'll say it again: "You can do better, Chicago!" Sure, I see the occasional mini-patrol of brave bike cops riding up the main drag in broad daylight. That's fabulous. But one block South I am mugged, and 1 block North I'm assaulted. I suppose I'm lucky that I'm not a laser-printed flyer, yet all I feel is disgust that the officials find it so easy to ignore millions of real people.

I think I need a scoliosis check, because this city is so crooked it tilts.