That forty dollars goes to good use -- it allows the flower shop owner to buy a forty-dollar sculpted soap set from the soapery next door. The soapmaker will go on to buy some paper flowers with that same money. Then both of them will pay income tax on their earnings, which will go toward paying a defense contractor to build bombs for military drones to drop onto various strangers. It’s all part of living in an interconnected community
Parking is insane in any major city, but in West Hollywood it’s particularly bad. It’s to the point now where it would actually be cheaper for me to buy a house just to get the residential parking pass, than to pay these constant tickets.
At the curb where I park, my commercial permit (‘I work in the city’) is good only until 7pm, when it becomes residential-only. Presumably, so residents can park in the precious spot I love to occupy. But THERE ARE NO HOUSES ON THIS STREET. And when I inevitably come sprinting, breathless, out to the curb at 7:24, having realized in the middle of a meeting what the clock portends, the street is invariably EMPTY. Save for my lonely little car. Kept company, I suppose, by the little piece of paper fluttering under the wiper.
And then the post office loses my check and I’m liable for late fees to the state. GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY BLAH
by Scott, who says, “something I made a few years ago while bored with a stack of construction paper and some scissors.”
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