stop at the door, podner.
The smell of freshly ground and brewing beans may sound like an invitation as it winds its way up your nostrils. It’s not. Burt’s Bad Bird is watching you, just past the wooden gate topped by barbed wire. He is fierce. He is wise. He was Dead-Eye Dick in a former life. So keep on lopin’ by, partner. Get yer grounds at Storeboch’s.
I brewed coffee this morning as a countermeasure to the primer they’re spraying on our freshly scraped and sanded clapboards. Man, it stinks. Even though we’re cloistered inside with the air conditioner running the smell of toxic chemicals seeps inside. Now the coffee’s gone, but there are cinnamon sticks and cloves simmering in a pot of water. The house smells like cookies, but I know the fumes are under there somewhere.
My co-worker’s two young daughters made the background for this card. They scrawled some words and designs with crayons on a kraft envelope, and then tried to copy it on the laser printer at work. I was so enamored of the result I took the scraps home with me. I may have to try this myself.