Every day, I turn left to come down my street, park the car, and go inside my apartment. And every day, I am struck by the giant letters painted on my street.
I try not to take them personally.
I try not to see them as Metaphor.
They are, after all, describing a LITERAL situation … but sometimes I look at the painted letters, and think, “Good Lord, is there no hope? None at all?”
Maybe I should move.
I don’t like living on a street that taunts me. You’re just a STREET. What do YOU know?
I vote “Somebody up there is a Kinks fan.”
They are rather threatening. All cracked, like, “Hey, look how long I’ve been here. So long that I’m cracked up. This will happen to youuuuuuuuu.”
Tell me ’bout it, roadsigns can be so profoundly rude! The secondary school I went to had a cracked plaque on the wall that said, without any punctuation, “SLOW CHILDREN HERE”.
Hilarious! Happy
St. Patty’s Day Sheila!
On a side note; the "sweatshop"
has been running full steam, five more of both flavors headed your way!
Glenn, seriously, the imagery you come up with. I am howling.
I can’t wait – I will pass one on to my pregnant sister, I have a couple other folks who want to see it … You’re the best!!
Beannacht!
You’re a STREET, what do YOU know! So indignant. LOL I mean, yeah, come on, Street – what do you do all day but let people walk all over you? Who are you to call me anything? Fricking street. Who does he think he is, anyway? Jeez