When you bring your old bicycle and lay it on the curb in front of my house — between the hours of 06:00 and 08:00 — I should be more appreciative, except for the fact that it is not the one you may have stolen from this address approximately five years ago.
I would have preferred the bike as an in-kind replacement for the one lost, but the officer wanted to back-pack it back to precinct in trunk of his patrol car. Now he has two spares in the boot. Jeez, now I’ve lost my little red pick-up truck, a bicycle, with carrier for my two younger grandchildren, and two rockers off the front porch — all since I’ve been here, five or so years ago.
What else might hath God hath wrought? I’ll never be able to go back to the best job I ever had. I dunno about that, Chief Sitting Bull — so saith the Lord. Bainbridge is somewhat downhill from here, and if you pedal fast and reserve your oxygen intake between “chicken houses,” you should be good for ‘bout 40 more laps ‘round yer mountain of self-inflictions. Right! — so saith chorus of Left over right, “Get over it!”
Har, har, har — in the immortal words of Gruntosaurus Rex, who never gave in to giving up on on any worthwhile person, place or thing. “Down yonder” my last marching order was to lead my platoon of 33 housekeeping, laundresses and groundskeeping personnel to our ever-present objective, which was to “maintain a clean, safe, and conducive environment of care — for physicians, nurses, clinical personnel, other supporting services, and visitors alike.”
With that said if any of y’all need a little help from “one of the few,” get on the horn and ring my chimes. If Commander-in-Chief and Hillary don’t have the line tied up or encrypted by NSA, we may be able to cut a deal.