So I’m trying to write and this cocky squirrel on the fence outside my window is chomping acorns and eyeballing me while I’m drinking tequila and listening to the Chambers Brothers and they’re telling me to “Do It” and I can’t because I don’t know what to do so I’m writing this and eyeballing this squirrel right back because what’s good for that jacked up goose is good for the goddamn gander. Eyes strafe. Squirrel bolts.
Another second inside my head.
Chambers Brother switch it up—Let’s Get Funky—Right on. Wind’s stretching out crepe myrtle’s. Ants are crawling outside my door and some chump wants to dump a butt load of chemicals on ‘em—that’ll fix em, he says. I tell him to take a flyin’ fuckin’—shut yo mouth! Fan’s blowing but it’s still hot as hell back in this window laced room because when May hits down here you start sweating and you don’t stop, and you don’t stop—Sure Shot.
Check that—Chambers Brothers are telling me to Wade in the Water. Dive in DEEEEEEP. Salt. Fluid. Mouth. Lungs.
Back on shore—don’t EVER mess with the Chambers Brothers—Chambers Brothers are BAAAAAAD!
Stay chill.
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