What I do not have time for these days: Blogging, apparently.
What I always have time for: Bitching and moaning.
Let us begin!
I have nothing against Nashville's Homeless Newspaper. Nothing at all. It’s wonderful. I have no idea how anyone makes any money selling a monthly newspaper for one dollar, but I’m not here to question the business model of the homeless community. They have their ways.
I’m not concerned with the What or the How or the Why of the homeless newspaper, but can we talk, for a second, about the WHERE?
Because my brain?
My brain is not wired to conduct commerce at a four-way stop.
Even under ideal conditions, I struggle with the maths and the moneys. So when you toss in three other cars, a bunch of stop signs, a gas pedal, and a purse (the navigation of which requires an advanced degree in Spelunking), attempting to sell me the homeless newspaper at a four-way stop is like lighting my ass on fire and asking me which one's burning, my hands or my feet.
I DON’T KNOW. I’M CONFUSED. SOMETHING SMELLS.