I have a question.
How come every neighborhood I live in anywhere in the world always ends up with a fucking rooster in it eventually? That's right -- roosters in Brooklyn. If you don't believe me, you've obviously never been to Brooklyn. This time, I suspect it's the monks up the road.
I would like to know. Because I didn't think owning roosters was that fucking common.
Is it me?
- I'm no Picasso
- This is a tale of the seaports where chance brings the traveler: he clambers a hillside and such things come to pass.
Map
6 comments:
I know you weren't there for this, but the fucking rooster in the pratt parking lot and the security guard telling Lesley, Tasha, and I: "Birds free to be."
Words to live by.
Knows.
I'm bored and hungry. Come have Indian food with me.
Same same.
Only not hungry.
I need some beers. Some beers that taste better. Colder.
Billy inserts predictable 'roosters follow you around because they know you love the cock' joke. Sigh.
(L)
PS -- Inserts. "Jokes".
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