A knock on my door, shortly after sunrise. It's my son Jon. He used to have this room. He knows. He's carrying a wasp-killer can. He sprays seven wasp nests. No more wasps.
He duct-tapes the screen to my door. No more flies.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
The nicest thing anyone has ever done for me in my entire life.
Farm. Trying to sleep. Flies. The kind that like nostrils, ears, and lips. Wasps. Seven nests in my room.
A knock on my door, shortly after sunrise. It's my son Jon. He used to have this room. He knows. He's carrying a wasp-killer can. He sprays seven wasp nests. No more wasps.
He duct-tapes the screen to my door. No more flies.
A knock on my door, shortly after sunrise. It's my son Jon. He used to have this room. He knows. He's carrying a wasp-killer can. He sprays seven wasp nests. No more wasps.
He duct-tapes the screen to my door. No more flies.
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