I choose, in the next few lines, to complain. It will be not witty, nor interesting, so save yourselves:

Every day. Every. Fucking. Day. Every Gawdamn Motha-F’ing Day, there’s a guy outside my window with a leaf blower! Yes, I appreciate the pristine path leading from the mailbox to my apartment door, the resplendent sidewalk leading to and from the pool, the walkway so clean I could eat my fucking breakfast off of it if my breakfast ever consisted of anything more than a handful of chips and a Pepsi…but every damn day?! I know, I know, the schedule would be invisible to me if I had a damn job and didn’t have to sit here in the heat all day and stare at monster, hotjobs, dice, careermosaic, bayareajobs, socalTECH, thebestjobs, careerbuilder, headhunter, and a multitude of direct sites to companies that don’t want me until my eyes cross more than usual; but, I don’t have that salvation. So, every day, seemingly for interminable lengths, there is the whine of a motor and the faint sound of blowing leaves. The same leaves, mind you, that he will blow back behind the bushes tomorrow. It occurs to me that if he were to actually blow them into a manageable pile, and then, say, pick them up, he might be able to take a day off now and again.

And don’t get me started on the trash guys again.

Water balloons at the ready.

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