Also in Itch (see previous link):
Many of us are good, but just not good enough. There are a few who are plenty good, but they’re told they are not good enough. Usually by those who are not very good at all, but have somehow managed to fool a few well placed people. Then, of course, there are all those who have very little that is good, and don’t spend much time worrying about it.
I was pondering these kinds of profound topics one night when a sudden clap slapped onto the roof of my place, rattling the tin sheeting like a dozen motel maids snapping the bedding onto last night’s dirty mattresses. The wind had whipped up out of nowhere. It’s not that unusual where I live; the wind will howl over this little bowl as often as not. There’s a big debate here about whether to set up a wind farm, to harvest the stuff.
I’m always convinced the whole roof is going to blow off, simply sail off toward the township like a tossed playing card. It never does though.
“What the fuck was that?” I said.
“It was the wind, you silly man.”
“That’s easy for you to say. It’s my house.”
Which wasn’t really true, for I was a renter. One of those who have no property. Nothing to call our own, really. Just not good enough.
“It’ll be alright. The roof’s not going anywhere. The only thing getting off tonight is you and me.”
“That sounds like a song.” I said.
And with that I went upstairs to get my shit down.
You got to go upstairs and get your shit down
You got to go upstairs and get your shit
down
You got to go upstairs and get your shit down
Before you going to be free.
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That's what I used to say till all these assholes who are trying to scam me popped up. Die motherfuckers, die.