Well.  It appears I’ve taken the last month off.  I knew it’d been a while but a month?  There are days, and this is one of them, where I feel as though I’ll blink and find myself lying on my death bed.  If that happens, I’m telling you right now I’m going to be fucking furious.

This is kinda weird:  Sunday before last, I was driving to 7-Eleven to get ice and as I turned down Vine, there was a single-file line of maybe a half dozen Garbage Urchins on bicycles going through people’s trash.  Trash collection comes at damn near the crack of dawn in my neighborhood (seriously, if you put your bins out at 7am, you’re too late), so both sides of the streets are lined with garbage bins, giving the Garbage Urchins a good twelve to sixteen hours to get all that great stuff people throw away.  Now I’ve always known about the Garbage Urchins, but I’ve never seen them, so this was something new for me.  It wasn’t fully dark yet, but it was close enough and it was also kind of cold so they were all wearing sweatshirts with their hoods up.  It was dark enough and their hoods were large enough that I couldn’t see their faces as I drove past them, and as I did, I thought to myself, “…we have Jawas?”

You remember that movie Atonement from a couple years ago with Keira Knightley, James McAvoy, and all that swelling music?  I saw the trailer for that in front of No Country For Old Men and thought [Generic Fart Noise Goes Here].  I watched the last twenty minutes of it on HBO the other night and wow, fuck that movie.  And, yes, judging a movie you haven’t seen it in it’s entirety is a stupid thing to do.  Just not as stupid as watching Atonement.

No Country For Grumpy Old Men would be a horrible mashup.  I’m kind of shocked it hasn’t already happened on one of those shitty Flash video sites.

The four mornings a week that I have to get up and go to work always present me with a choice of one thing not to do: shower, shave, dress, or eat.  Dressing is pretty important as my wife has made it abundantly clear that she won’t post bail if I show up to work tackle-out.  Frequently it’s shaving that gets sacrificed, which means I’m always showing up to work looking a bit scruffy.  Problem is, I hate shaving and frequently go through my entire weekend without having done it so not shaving on Tuesday morning means showing up to work looking like Crackpipe Johnny.  So I sometimes shave at work after getting in in the morning.  Today was one of those days and when I’d finished, I put my shaving cream back in my desk drawer and this is what I saw:

Jesus Christ, I think all that’s missing are condoms and a hairbrush, it looks like I fucking live here.  I think I’d rather just look like Crackpipe Johnny.


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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