what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

Jason Wells photo from Shanghai

I hate looking for parking for longer than it took to drive there
then getting a parking ticket for not having the proper zone permit

I hate paying more for parking than it cost for dinner
I hate $25 early bird specials    and    meters with 15 minute limits
   
I hate car salesmen          and
their rustproof undercoating  new-car-smell charade

I hate the single male driver actuarial profile
fender bender    two estimate    touchup paint
rate hike   insurance premium   monthly payment

I hate the cold morning car won’t start stalls in intersection stress
burning oil   dead battery   gas leak   brake caliper   dragging muffler

I hate leaving home two hours early to try to get to work on time
 
I hate sitting in traffic miles before the on-ramp
then merging into I-5 when it isn’t even moving

I hate the Mercer mess from 5th Avenue to the freeway
I hate hearing frequent traffic updates on KIRO news radio
bottleneck   backed up   bumper to bumper   gridlock

I hate $700 for parts and $2000 for labor

I hate frequent oil changes
I hate blown fuses
I hate car alarms on quiet streets at 3:00am
I hate the tax on rental cars
I hate zip car mini coopers and pt cruisers

I hate trying to hail a cab in the rain when 
I'm on the phone and it’s hard to hold my umbrella and my latte  

I hate it when my umbrella gets inverted and my hair gets wet

I hate rushing to the bus stop then waiting 25 minutes
for a crowded damp h1n1 bus that drops me off eight blocks away
only to wait    to transfer    to another bus

I hate paying for a full tank of gas
the free carwash that comes with it
won’t wash away the hate

7 Comments

copy that

i miss my bike

Ditto Vietnam.

and all this time I thought puce was green. It sounds green. Ah, never too old. The poet laurette (spell check not provided) was 45 when she self published her first book. You are way ahead and my pilderwasser shirt is puce (the one I'm wearing right now). I want a copy of that grinnel beer cozy with the flowers, please. And where is the real West Marginal Way

Have you seen my new bike? It's an '87 Volvo named Vern...

I finally got my hands on the Real West Marginal Way, now I have to read it. The real real West Marginal is south where only those hardscrabble KNR messengers ride that far out of downtown. In the 99, 509 deep 1st South industrial wonderland where Hugo felt Boeing as well as White Center influences, where I wouldn't eat the fish from the river. I can email you the Grinnell photo and even print a hard copy if the printing poltergeists are with me. Perhaps I can interest you in a new shirt too, no puce but I do have sangria.

I'm reading the car that brought you here still runs. I am at the degrees of gray in philipsburg--had to put my kurt was here bookmark on that page and turn the computer back on. Sangria sounds very fine in the gray, grey, grate of here. See you soon!!

Add Comment

Your Name: (Required)

Comment:

Please enter the 4 to 6 character security code:

(This is to prevent automated comments.)