From the Department of Smog and Policing

It’s been a long, policey day.

I mean, they haven’t been bothering me, the police, but they’ve been cruising round the block, chirping their police horns…try and nap through that.

Oh, there they go again. Wah-WOUP! What’s the point of that, even? Is it a warning, like oi, here we come, butt your doobs? Then they flash us their cherry lights, blind the whole street, and for what? It’s a nuisance, is what it is. A loud police nuisance. Pack it in, Constable Honk. (Are they constables here, or are they officers? You’d think I’d know. ‘Cause I live here, I mean. Not for, like, criminal reasons.)

It’s been a smoggy day, too—no, a whole smoggy week, with the mountains hazed out. I can’t fill my lungs. I’m not dying, or anything, but there’s this woolly feeling, mohair in my chest. I should send for an air purifier. This will not do.

I have just one more gripe for today: those heavy-duty snack bags that…Christ, you could hang, draw, and quarter them, and they still wouldn’t open. I just want my pretzels, man. Gimme a break.

That’s about all, as I’m tired. I hope it rains tomorrow, or the wind blows the smog away. I’d like to breathe again.

Start a fight! (I mean, don't do that. But by all means, leave a comment.)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s