Arriving at our lodging, some working men are drunk or high motormouthing at each other in constant slurred frequency, talking over each other with “f-ing this” and “f-ing that” loud enougg to penetrate my car.
Their inane noise pierces pain-hazed thinly-remaining barriers and drive me into over agitation because they don’t stop for breath while I am trying to chill in my car.
I do not like being around this kind of influence. Summer is over, and these are the digging-in regulars. The complications in finding this year’s housing requires us to keep enduring.
Candid Corvid Productions 