Nine to Five & a Sack LunchOl’ Bill ate typewriters for breakfast.He taught me the trick of spittin’ outthe
and the pieces of
before they clogged the back teeth;said he had no use for adverbs. I tried to takehis advice every step I could, cuz his eyes showed mewhere the landmines were snugglin’ down under just an inch or two of mudand just by sweepin’the soggy earth to one side, almost like squirtin’ it off the sidewalk with a nozzled hose, the writing came out pure, clean and hardas the sidewalk itself. I wanted to write like that. I really wanted to be thatkind of writer and so I listened to everything he said about grammar and of course,
style. Ok ok,
I’d say, when he look all mad and impatient with me.
I’m doing the best I can, ya know…
And he’d say,
I doubt it.
It was a crappy relationship, but no one else was willing to let mesleep on their couch, take two hours baths at two in the morning.I always cleaned up after myself and I made dinner and a sack lunchfor him to take to the yard where he sliced pecker polesinto board feet and sanded the worst of his sloppy cuts down.