Fenced Off

ILLUSTRATION by BOB AUL

This goes out to the gang of yard-apes that keeps fucking with my fence—which, just for the record, is not redwood. It’s red-stained white wood, from Home Depot. Totally different. The rails are redwood, but you can’t see them. So anyway, who the Sam Hill keeps tagging my fence—so I have to either grind off their writing with a wire wheel on a drill, or turn all the boards around? And especially, which one of you geniuses thought it would be funny to break the top of one of my fence boards in the middle of the night last week? What—did you want to look in my yard? There’s nothing to see except an old car tire, and you can have that. What a bunch of haters. I shouldn’t complain, though. The worst was when you guys tagged the streetlight, and I had to clean that off with paint stripper. That was a drag; it reminded me of the time I heard a noise and it was the Indian guy across the street (Comanche, I think) sharpening a hatchet on the streetlight post. He really liked hatchets—seriously, he gave me one before he moved away for non-payment of rent.

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Tags: FINK, HATCHETS, Long Beach