scott (banjopwhistle) wrote,

scenes and recollections

In the waiting room at the county jail, a woman, deep south accent, gentile and Georgian, lamented "...both my kids here...who would've ever thought it...both of them." She was a huge woman, with a problem leg, and there was something sad and entirely gothic about the exchange with the sheriff's deputy and her lonely, hunchbacked teetering.

Twice now, in the past two weeks, a car from my household has broken down. The same guy, Rick, towed the roomie's and my car. He rarely sleeps after doing a wreck; his wife passed away in a car accident a year or so ago. What would it be like to work a job, as he does, always reminded, always seeing a loved one in the pieces?

I need a new tranny.
(transmission, for the laypeople).

I need to start pimping myself again, to the tune of 2300 or so bones. It hurts just saying the number.

The saddest question to hear at work:

will I ever get better?
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