Smooth Title That Rolls Off The Tongue Effortlessly Right into An Opening Sentence

_{Now it won't be so awkward when we do things my way}

I know! Three I know's in a row, cræzy. I had no idea they'd flow intrinsically unnoticed like Mickey Rourke's facelift.

I told a superintendent once, 'you're better than me, you're richer, your car's faster, you're stronger than me, we don't even have to arm wrestle, I'll just say you won.' He was worthless, a democratic pay grade ahead of me, we fixed everything he did until eventually the crew didn't respect him and he became vindictive. Upper management 'transferred' him and promoted me. On his way out the gate he said "employees perform better in a hostile environment. Your theory of 'treat them as you wish to be treated' is ancient history." I smiled and stuck my hand out, said that stuff about 'you're better.. faster.. stronger'.. He slithered away without shaking my hand.

I'm not always all over the place like this just usually. I rarely know where I'm going with these until I run out of stuff to say and scramble to make sense of it at the end like a last minute household substitution during a global pandemic on Easter.

The cover image is giving me a tough time. I'm undecided between the reflection in front of me right now or the crocodile and the other day I spelled favoUrite with a U! Wtf's happening to me?!

_{Crocodile in Costa Rica I've been meaning to show you}

Fuck's my favorite curse word. I use shit a lot too when I'm talking about shit or talking shit about something. Not the B-word, though—nope! Pura's never heard me say that one. Back when I'd bathe in liquor, my buddies would use every tactic fathomable in a last ditch effort to persuade me to say it. Ain't happening. "C'mon man, just once! One time and I'll never ask again, what rhymes with itch and starts with B?"

_{Now pay attention female dogs!}

I don't really mean that. It just seemed wildly inappropriate and opportune all at the same time and I can't resist that shit!! I'm such a softie. Inappropriate and opportune go together like Velcro and dryer sheets.

It dates back longer than I care to remember. I was half way through my first year of elementary school when my grandfather explained why we don't call women B-words. My mother was in a toxic relationship. Uncle Paul came and took me out of school early that day, "we're going to Denver!" I hadn't seen him since Christmas, he was cool, I loved Uncle Paul. He put me up in the passenger side captain chair of his Mystery Machine lookin hippie van and buckled me in.

We stopped by the house I lived in first, it's five blocks from school. When Uncle Paul turned the corner on Eaton Street, it was lined with cop cars and there's a moving van in my driveway—six years old. My grandfather's there, my aunts and uncles are there, I was clueless. My mother gave me a kiss, her face is swollen and bruised, "you're gonna stay in Colorado with your uncle for awhile." 'Color what?' I didn't know Colorado was a word. The guy screaming from the back seat of a cop car is the guy whose house this is—I live there. He screamed every name in the book at my mother that day as they took him away. I remember the B-word vividly.

I was gonna write something else today but forgot what I was gonna say so I'm writing this instead

I don't know how it goes yet hopefully less of a mess than charcoal enriched focaccia bread

'I don't know where that came from I didn't order that you can take it back please repeat what you said'

It isn't charcoal dipshit it's a twisted mix of wordsmith and whit don't let it go to your head.

The voice spoke softly placed adjacent to me witnessed easily you recite LA Times to grandfather

He shouted across the room to grandmother preparing food "Frances! He's reading the paper!"

Wasn't a big deal to me I didn't understand it ain't like I planned to pick the Times up

I don't remember the images they weren't important reciting the words was a cinch they lined up

Looking back now I understand the significance when grandfathers chin fell against the floor

Headlines on the Times say I recited the front page that day several weeks before age four

Where was I? Mirrorless indurate (that's right). Sucks to be him, that's all I meant to say this whole time—sidetracked. I do this when I don't know how to say it, this and crack jokes, those are my tricks. Now you know my tricks. It's easier than saying 'it must be hell having a son as cool as me and never met him.'

_{The Reflection in Front Of Me}