Living in a tent for six years, eating leftovers and
listening to second rate music out of some fool's car radio.
You call that a good life? It's actually better than most.
The part I like is the shredder that comes by twice a week,
scoops up a bum off the sidewalk, and shreds him to dust.
And then the dust gets on our clothes, and in our nostrils,
and it's just everywhere, but it feels good. It soaks up the
damp, and smells nice. And winter is approaching early this
year. Last Wednesday, the shredder almost got me, but it
scooped up Miriam instead. She smelled like feces in life,
but her death smell is lavender and rose water, so I don't
feel very guilty. OK, my point is, don't deny surprises in
life just because they smell bad. They may be horrible, they
may make you crazy with sorrow, but the leftover dust makes
things better.

Hey! Asshole in the Corvette! Change the station!