Saturday, June 23, 2007

Rake on Gravel = Fingernails on Chalkboard

It's almost 9:30, nearly dark out . . . I opened the window to get some fresh air and what do I hear? The scraping of gravel with a metal-tined instrument of auditory torture. RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE.

The lady up the hill from us must have hired some boy to smooth out her gravel driveway which is right in front of our driveway which is where we turn around. So I actually feel sort of badly, like I should go out there and offer to help or pay for the labor or something since we are part of why it gets UNsmooth.

But fuck, I am so not in the mood to talk to anybody right now or smile or any of that nonsense. Plus I can never remember her god-damned name (she's really nice, though, our neighbor responsible for the crazed raking).

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