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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

(by Levon who is listening to John Prine, Standing by Peaceful Waters)

Tomorrow and a day until we are no longer nomadic couch dwellers.  Our lease will be up and Knoxville  will be home again.  Ashley said yesterday something like, “remember how New York drove me crazy because I never had my space for an easel and a mess?  Can you believe it’s gone on another year like that?”

Maybe our 20 or so  roommates and hosts would argue that we’ve actually never been without our mess, but very soon she can have her floor of the house and I can get my corner back.  She has the nerve to tell me that my keyboards and cables and speakers are homely to look at: she, the one who leaves piles of paint tubes and cups of muddy water everywhere to trip on.

We are both going to do better.  After so much communal living we hopefully have better habits.  I’ve ceased bringing home forsaken curbside objects like decorative pianos.  Nearly six years of marriage and we’ve decided housework cannot be delegated, shared, or ignored.   You must instead pretend you are living with in-laws at all times.  (I hope that that was either funny or they are not reading.)

wired. for the action sports lifestyle


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