"Ya gotta quit smoking, that'll kill you"

Dear God could I be that lucky to live so long for the cigarettes to kill me. Every time I go to work one small mistake and I'm dead or worse. Let me be so lucky as to die a painful death from tobacco years form now rather then die a painful death on the street tomorrow. When I hang up my cleats, then I might stop but I'd hate to think of myself as a quitter. Until then please stay out of my body bag, just get off my ass.

Happy Birthday, Sam

Los Anchorage you call it

You say it so smugly. Well fuck you, you need us to be Los Anchorage, where else are you gonna get your supplies, where else can you have your crack, booze, hooker binges. Without us your frontier thing would shrivel up and die. How many frequent flyer miles on your account. How many trips to Seattle? Me I am who I am, I live here I accept it for what it is. Do you truly accept where you live? Why you hangin' in Los Anchorage, anyway? I live in Los Anchorage where growin' up here, it's a lot like this and a little like this. We called it Spenard and it was a little more diverse. Small town charm and big city convenience Infused with a frontier spirit. I got a buddy with a Cessna who owes me big. Know what I'm sayin?

If I were more of a prick this would be my answer.

Stupid questions

What do you do in winter?
Where's the thing you never go to and seldom think about?
Wheres the liquor store?
Is the coffee any good here?
Do you use studded tires?

Just thinking about you

When I came up to bed you sort of pushed me out you were sleeping, it was one of your deep sleeps. The kind when I know you need to sleep. I could have moved you but I would have risked waking you. Instead I dozed on the couch I woke from time to time and I thought of you my one true sweet love

Birthday

I'm taking a moment to reflect. In less then an hour I turn forty four an age when I said I'd hang up my cleats when I would be a messenger no more. I've got chronic pain in both shoulders. A sane man would ........ Me I wanna get all Charlton Heston and hold my bike over my head and shout. "From my cold dead thighs, from my cold dead thighs!!" Come to think about it I read about some messengers catching some cat stealing one of their bikes. They beat on him a little but he could still walk away. Some folks thought that was a little much. I say fuck those over-privileged whiny pussies they have no clue what it's like to have something you've worked for, that's become a part of you as well as being a tool you use to feed yourself taken from you.