Louis Shalako
When I got up this morning, I had a plan. You see, my
previous plan had been cancelled.
That was because my brother needed a ride, or rather,
two rides. One there, and one back, much
later in the day.
It
is true that he has done it for me, like when my own car was
at the shop for example.
(My previous plan involved a few hours at work, and
then going to the Salivation Army food bank in the afternoon. This did not
happen.)
And of course he called me at eight o’clock this
morning, and then cancelled the plan for the day. He was going to take his car
to the high school, and let the auto-shop kids work on it, (for free) but he
would have had to pay for parts. He doesn’t have the forty bucks, not this
close to ODSP payday. It’s a simple little job, a new thermostat and a radiator
flush—good experience for the students, but he simply can’t afford it this
close to the end of the month.
One must assume the vehicle needs it as well,
and that he wasn’t doing it just for fun.
Normally, I would be at work at eight a.m. Normally, I
would work three or four hours, make a few bucks, and then go and get something
to eat…
As it is, I have eaten something twice today. This wasn’t
junk food, it was good stuff. Ah, I just had baked salmon, mashed potatoes and
microwaved leftover beans. Which I maybe overdid just a bit, as beans really
shouldn’t be that crunchy. I can’t recall what I had for lunch, although there
were definitely frozen peas and mashed potatoes involved…what in the hell did I eat for lunch, ladies and gentlemen…???
We’d almost have to call in the forensic scientists to
go through the garbage, in order to answer that question.
(He had a beef meat-pie, taken out of the fake
paper-plastic bowl, and baked in tinfoil, and it all came out in one piece when
he flipped it over onto his one and only plate. – ed.)
I guess I fucked around, getting things ready to do
taxes. The neighbour came around, she was here for a while. I watched a
documentary, can’t even recall what it was. Now I’m watching some crummy old
war movie, one I have seen a dozen times before.
Yeah, it’s great, some old war movie. Where Eagles
Dare. They’re holed up in a mountain cabin in Bavaria. Major Smith, he
goes back to get the code books (which he already has in his pocket), ah, off
of some dead body, (this is so he can rendezvous with the Mary Ure character) and then
when he transmits, it’s like he’s speaking plain English, in the clear—
No one questions him on this, like “So why did you need the code-books,
asshole…???”
Snork.
And yet they’re all highly-trained operatives.
My plan for tomorrow involves going to work, nice and
early in the morning. Oh, yeah—remind me not to answer the phone anytime soon.
Let’s hope my fucking car works, let’s hope that right
rear tire holds air, let’s hope I don’t crash and burn somewhere along the way,
let us hope we don’t get hit by a meteorite, let’s hope we don’t go stark,
raving mad, or go dashing about town perpetrating a slew of low-level, sexual
misdemeanors.
Because that would just be wrong, ladies and
gentlemen.
I hate like hell to waste my time.
Interestingly, my Smashwords royalties came in only
one day—I just clicked on that Paypal notification, yesterday, the day they
came out. Sometimes the unexpected is a good thing.
If nothing else, I get to eat again on another day.
END
Image. Hunter S. Thomspon, gonzo journalist. Public domain.
Thank you for reading.
