a couple of weeks ago, my father had informed me that the house was finally closing. not my childhood home but the family's house. the house where we all congregated for the holidays. the house where afterwards i would get headaches from the smoke of being stuck in traffic and listening to the doo wop shop with don k. reid. the house that the chairman started his career in after he moved back from the wilds of connecticut and decided that there had to be more to life than a workaday job and a fucking pension. the house where uncle acid played sgt peppers by the beatles on 8 track until the damn thing exploded.no.
wait.
that was on vinyl. we destroyed magical mystery tour somewhere in the middle of blue jay way. anyway this was the house where alot happened and now it belongs to some chucklehead from arizona i understand.
i hope that now that it's over, shit can be put aside. one can't go back in time but, a bastard can hope for shit can't he? i also hope that the new owner finds my goddam star wars figures. we buried them in the sand on the beach like 30 some odd years ago and we never saw them again. also, open letter to the new owner. dear sir, treat the damn place with respect. someone's family grew up there.
—the bastard
1 comment:
well look on the bright side at least we don't have to worry about that fucked up dock and a noreaster is going to flood the place out. every storm, wind, may the new owner enjoy the stress of having to living on (and sometimes in) the water. i say bring on global warming, we'll all be on the water someday. ps the isish yankee is up for sale!
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