9-5

 192nd day sober. I found myself tottering last night again and again it was too late to list stuff so I didn't. So today I got up at 9, and had the idea of confining my work to the 9-5 time slot so I'd have the evening to myself. Of course Ebay had to fuck up and not work for most of that time, so while I got 20 things cleaned up and photo'd, I had to spend a ton of time trying and re-trying to get labels printed to ship stuff. 

I did get all the things labeled, though. I took off at 6 and was throwing things away at FedEx when a guy from the FedEx came up and I was thinking, "Well, there goes my ability to throw things away here" and he asked me my shoe size. I told him, and he said he had some shoes I could have but they're size 9, and actually, they're slippers.... I said What in the world would I need them for then? And I've got Crocs back at my shop and liked them so much I have a 2nd new pair too, they're great for working on a cement floor all day, and I got outta there. 

I guess the guy thought I was homeless because of course all homeless people have lights blinking away on their bike and haul perfectly neatly wrapped and labeled boxes around. I know I'm the only one in this city using a cargo trailer for actual cargo, but still it's dismaying that the simple fact that I use a bike trailer pegs me as homeless and apparently gets me associated with the whacked out zombies around here. 

The drop-offs went fine and I picked up some chicken as is becoming my habit on Wednesday nights. On the way back, I noticed Tom didn't have his homeless friend there so I stopped in to say Hi. No, he's not sold any wood in weeks, he's kind of "laid off" his homeless friend because he's spent a ton getting the place fixed up - which I could not tell, and besides now the place stinks. 

Tom and I talked for a bit and it turns out his homeless friend is an epic pothead, and I think Tom didn't want to say more. I said I kind of figured the guy'd moved in with him and pretty soon there'd be a little colony of homeless hangers-on, but I think that's one thing Tom wants to avoid. 

We talked about all kinds of things but eventually I had to say "This chicken keeps getting colder and colder, I'd better go" and rode back along Rogers, AKA Zombie Central these days. The bad thing is, there's a shitty old RV parked out on the curb by the ghost kitchen and as I passed by I noticed it smelled with the same smell I associate with the time a horse died in the pasture when I was a kid living in Pupukea. So I'm thinking someone died in there and I'm not gonna say a thing, I decided, because there are tons of people around there and let *them* tell the cops.