Rowboat. Fish. Bait. Worms. A bucket for the fish. Books.

I read in the rowboat. There are a couple of books at the bottom of the lake. I play around with photographs to disguise them so no one knows where I live. This time.

I got chastised in print for not having ever bought a house. People were shocked. He never even bought a house like us.

Thank fucking god. 

Take your house and shove it up your fat white ass, cowboy.

Dog bowel movement. Enjoy your joyless house, Cunt.

I bought a restaurant once. San Francisco. All we put together was Seafood (and Jack Daniels). Mainly dungeness crabs from Fisherman’s Wharf. I am told I cannot drink.

Temptation and desire. Who wins. Who’s out. What Little Twink is weeping that I never bought a house. I piss outside in the woods just like the other animals. I am no different from them. We are mainly animals here. And we growl.

Mainly, we were having fun. The fish today are brown trout.

That is why I never bought a fucking house. I have never been arrested. I have never even had a parking ticket. I am a law-abiding citizen.

I am an old woman who lives in a shoe. Who had so many children, that bitch had no clue as to what to do.

A house. A money pit that keeps you pinned down to one location. I would rather be buried alive. How fucking ordinary. I was chewed a hole in my little bottom by people who own a house. I am supposed to buy one so I can be like them.

Shoot me.

I want to die in the row boat. I want my ashes scattered under an oak tree.

I know the tree.

Never age. Do crazy stuff. Read all the wrong books. I play the cello.

In a rowboat. – tim barrus