|There it is, in all its loud, obnoxious glory, |
stuffed to the gills with useless crap.
It wouldn't be a problem, except that his muffler is broken. So each morning, the ground rattles and windows shake in announcement of his departure. He is home all day except for intervals during which he does mystery activities that take approximately 14 minutes to accomplish.
10:52am: returns. And so on...
It goes on all day. Sometimes he's gone a few hours, sometimes a few minutes. What does this man do? He can't be working--the hours are too erratic. Buying drugs? Selling drugs? Buying booze? (Yes, every example I can come up with involves socially unacceptable and/or illegal behavior.)
One day, K and I followed him. We didn't MEAN to, but we happened to be pulling out of our driveway seconds after he did and ran into him at the gas station. There he was, leaning up against the sandwich stand, fervently scratching off lotto tickets.
Lotto tickets? I hope you win a million dollars so you can fix that GD muffler.
It's a mystery, folks. Now make like Colonel Mustard in the Library with the Candlestick. WHAT does this man DO?