A Taxing Day and Night

Tax night. I have a top-drawer post in the works that was meant for today, but I was subjected to a day of such hideous complexion that I think I will postpone it.

I kid you not when I say my day contained in incident of literal insanity (no, not me), a viscious attack on my character as an educator and a three-hour test proctoring session that is the first in a series of five of these sessions, culminating in one on this coming Saturday. And at the end of this glorious day, tax night -- a trip to the accountant's. Huzzah!

But the office is a feast for the eyes. It is an set in a old, tumbledown house on a muddy, deeply-pocked lot that faces a highway split by a dirty grey wall. From the front door, there is a dazzling neon view of a dilapidated motel complex frequented by ladies of the evening and their randy clientele. (I know this, because I used to play in a club next to said complex and the aforementioned pleasure professionals would frequently attempt to peddle their wares to the band. The club was such a classy establishment that, once, when the lead singer of the band and I went outside to stop a man from kicking his prostrate girlfriend repeatedly in the face in the parking lot, the man defended himself, as we grabbed him, slurring: "Dudes -- it's okay. She's my girlfriend." Really.)