Writing as hell
The casualty report, today, is all autobiographical. It has been forty days and forty nights since LI was last paid by a major client. They float us, and they don't care, and that is ... life. We wrote, in good faith, reviews that were as good as we could make them, to deadlines that the newspapers laid down, and in return we get... this. The Sunday before last we begged a hundred dollars from our brother. That check came on Thursday, and foolishly we deposited it, where it was eaten by the money that we owed the bank from bounced checks. Since then, we�ve had nothing.
It is now Tuesday, July 8, 2003.
Hmm. The rent check will bounce in two days. The phone isn�t paid. And the electrical company is going to put a 24 hour notice on the door in about a day.
We went to the store today, and took stock of our wallet. Five dollars. We bought a can of peas.
What to do? We don�t have a clue. The money that is coming in might as well not, by now. We are too far into this dark tunnel. We went for a walk around the lake and tried to think it out, but nothing suggests itself. Or, actually, much suggests itself, and none of it is to our taste. It is ninety degrees in Austin at the present time. This isn�t good weather to be on the street. And, really, we don't know how to be on the street. In another ten days, the AOL account will be history, so if we were going to continue this, we'd have to work from a library. And it isn't worth it. We have no credit. Yesterday, we were looking at our clothes. We have one presentable shirt left.
We are about done, here.
So, our guess is: this is the last post for a while. We can�t go on in this vacuum.
So, my companeros -- you'll have to read the papers yourselves.