In which I teach my nephew Owen how to yell at cars.

Okay, Owen, now let's hassle that guy driving the yellow Hummer.


"Hey! Hey, buddy! What's with the car? Always dreamed of being a school bus driver but couldn't make the cut?"


"Ha! That always cracks me up."

On Top of the City

Every home has its own pleasures. Maybe you've got a cozy den, a kitchen window looking out on birds and palms, a tiled shower with perfect water pressure. Me, I've got brick steps, the perfect place to loll and sip beer and watch Tallahassee traffic roll past.

Remember when people would add neon light bars under the cars and trucks to give them a colored underglow? Yeah, some folks still do that. I know. I see them. I see it all on nights like tonight might pan out to be. Teenage boys singing show tunes. SUVs full of tiara-topped bachlelorettes (where do they go to make complete idiots of themselves in a town with no gay bars and no strip clubs?). Restaurant workers walking home, dreaming of taking off their shoes and polyester button down shirts. Hipsters on bikes. Old men on bikes. Once, a full sized Dodge van loaded into the back of a dump truck.

I intend to go home from work, put dinner in the fridge, clean out the cat box, change into my bdu britches, crack open a Pabst, and take up my post on the stoop. Hey, if you're out and about and haven't got anywhere to be, stop on by and say howdy. It's that kind of night.