Thanksgiven

i was awakened thanksgiving morning to a call from my brother-law to look in the trunk of the car. after an early morning hunting trip between him and my father, what would one expect to find in the trunk of a honda accord? a deer. and what good is a freshly killed deer just sitting in the trunk of a honda accord? no good. and what y-chromosome call to order did i fulfill in order to rectify the situation? i helped hoist the carcass up from my childhood basketball goal for the following skinning and gutting, of course.

let's all backtrack and note that my immediate family is far removed from white trash, especially when compared to the whole of east texas. we only have garage sales every other year and have never owned a truck (as can be proved by the hunting vehicle of choice). my father even has this running joke about how my uncles have spent the entirety of thanksgivings past telling deer stories. and there he was pouring intestines into an old tin washtub where i used to practice my lay-ups. they shoved a freakin deer into a midsize sedan. this is a deer story that will live on through my children's children, forever stained crimson red into my concrete surfaced memory.

then i return to san antone to find a gaggle of flies having their own thanksgiving get together on every previously sanitized surface in my apartment. i did my best billy crystal impression to round them up out the door through an intricate series of desk lamp light lochs that lead out the door to the front porch/pacific ocean/colorado plains. pick your metaphor.

if having your apartment infested with flies is cool, consider me miles davis.