Few things are more appealing than doing laundry right before bed, so I can climb into warm sheets.

Chyeah.

The proud new owner of:
A) A pair of shorts.
B) Two boxes of nicotine patches.
C) Colored pencils.

Who knows what will happen with the mix of the three. Oh dear.

Oh, the collector.

"Give to me." She motioned towards the can.
He nodded his head, he hadn't finished it yet.

She tried to add a pause to her sentence, "Give... to me."
Still, he declined.
She changed her tone of voice, "Give to... me?"

"Listen lady, I'm not done drinking it. Come back in ten minutes."

"Give to me."

He wagged his finger. She stepped slightly out of his peripheral vision, though he knew she was watching him.

Can hunting is like looking for a parking spot in a crowded lot. You look until you find a car that seems like it is about to leave, and you wait.

You know that there might be a spot twenty feet ahead that is readily available, but you wait. Patience is the mentality of the can-collector.

She waited, and it made him slightly uneasy. Not that he feared this toothless old woman with a sun hat and a bag full of crushed cans, he just didn't appreciate being rushed. After all, consuming alcohol in public in the middle of the day is tedious as it is. He didn't want to be rushed. Unlike the can collector, patience isn't one of his strong points.

He turned to look at her, and raised his arms above his head.

She walked off to where another can collector had laid down her can collection at the moment, and began to rifle through it for the most desirable of crushed aluminum.

As he watched her, she looked over, smiled, and gave him a thumbs up.

He walked over, crushed the can, and handed it to her.
"Tank jew."
"You're welcome."
Thus concluding his interaction with this particular can collector, but there will be more. So many more.


Unrelated:

Week

So, the past week has been interesting.

I'll start with the cab driver.
This cab driver was taking me from one interview to another, and we started chatting.
Religion came up, somehow. He went on to tell me that Muslims were 'my enemy,' and only 'trying to deceive me.'
Being Jewish myself, I told him that when I go out for drinks with Muslim friends, we don't talk about plotting the death of the nation. We usually talk about girls and motorcycles and beer.
He responds, "Your friend, 'Mohammed', I guess, is trying to deceive you! I am a historian! Trust me, throughout history Muslims have been trying to take over the world!"

I told him, "no, you're a cab driver. I wish you would re-think your entire existence."

The way I see it, nobody is the 'enemy,' per se, except for individuals like this cab driver, people that can't look at the September 11th incident, and realize that it was individuals, not a religion, responsible.

I mentioned the slaughter of the crusades. He responded with, "If it wasn't for the crusades, the entire world would be Muslim! What do you think about that, son?"

The next fifteen minutes were incomprehensible yelling. As I was leaving, he tried to shake my hand. I asked him quite politely to have an incredibly awful day.

Anyway, I got a job! Except, this job sucks ass!
Every shift, I get there at 7:30. I load a truck full of bicycles. We drive about 40 yards, and I unload the bicycles. We repeat this process three or four times. Then I get to stand around, all day, waiting for tourists. Only tourists. My job is to look at them, determine what size bike they need, and place it in front of them. Upon return, I take the bike from them, (detail) clean it, and put it back on the bike rack.

I do this for around 10 hours. It is horrifically boring. In the interim between tourists, I generally play with my yo-yo, or ride a child's bike around in circles.

Today, I yelled "I AM HAVING SO MUCH FUN!" for a good 15 minutes while cleaning a bicycle. I spend the majority of my time, however, staring at the ground with my mouth open. Seven thirty in the morning to six thirty in the evening. Spending all this time in the sun has left me incredibly fucking sunburned. Great.

Then, it is time to close. I repeat the morning's process, except in reverse. Then I get to take a bus home. It seems a bit redundant.

Anybody know of anywhere that is hiring?
Thanks.

On top of that, holy shit, today is the worst cigarette craving day I've had since I quit. It's been over a week now.

Fuck.

Medicine Patches and Steak-meat.

I think its pretty funny the amount of medical application I have on me at the moment.
A nicotine patch, an icy hot patch on my busted leg, a saline soak for my dermal piercing, dressed certain wounds with their respective healing solvents, I feel like a walking add for all sorts of medical companies.

The better part of my day though, is the canned meal I just ate.

I bought a can of food simply labeled as "steak and potatoes."
Sure enough, I opened the can and was greeted with a godly amount of aforementioned nourishment. To my surprise, however, there were fucking mushrooms in there too.

I love mushrooms.
Hell yeah.
I ate it, and am now incredibly satisfied.

Back to nursing my respective wounds, and back to my continued irritation due to not smoking. Day 5, woo!

Excuse the nonsense.

Well, fuck.

So an incredibly odd phenomena has been happening lately.

Every time I smoke a cigarette, I vomit. This has been happening for the past three days now. The awful part is, I endure vomiting to smoke.

Fuck that. I just went out and bought the nicotine patches, again. I've done it once, I'll do it again. I'm too broke to smoke cigarettes anyway.

Nicoderm CQ, you are my new best friend.

Day one, here goes nothing.