If we had Dutch-style intersections, we’d ride our bikes everywhere, too
Urban planner Nick Falbo wants U.S. engineers to borrow a trick from the Dutch: Keep the bike lanes on the curb side of parked cars, and then add an island in front of the parking lane in the intersection so that turning cars are forced to give cyclists a little more space.
Play gently with my heart. It has been curb-side on stormy nights. Treat each part of me with care. I have felt the darkness that other people only choose to see when they open their curtains. Love me delicately. I am on a path that is riddled with roots but it is worth it to trip because it means I have not stopped looking forward.
“So. Hypothetically,” Lance starts and Keith groans, lifting himself off of the curb side. If Lance got started, he would never stop. “Wait, wait, hold on, Keith,” Lance says quickly and tugs on Keith’s wrist with his hand.
Keith sighs and sits back down. Lance looks proud of himself for a moment before opening his mouth again. “Anyway,” he continues. “if I hypothetically failed all of my finals, would I pass for the year?”
By the wary look on Lance’s face, the question is obviously not what he really wants to say so Keith doesn’t answer, and waits as Lance deliberately cracks every one of his knuckles with a pop.
“If I hypothetically failed all of my finals,” Lance starts again. “would you care?”
Keith tutors Lance every Monday and Friday, ever since he’d found out about how his friend struggles to pass. It’s a Friday now, but school’s over and they’re sitting on the curb in front of their high school tennis courts and watching the sun go down behind the horizon.
this is a love story where two teenagers have sex and it defines their entire lives and determines the course of the earth's orbit around the sun for the next year
we drank from gas station sodas hardly looking at each other as we sat on the curb side by side this is a love story
i finished my soda first and tried to kiss her but i had only kissed 1 boy and 2 girls before her so my lips were dry and i felt on the verge of cumming from nerves this is a love story
i told her that i wanted to take her to a cemetery and fuck her against one of the graves b/c i’m one dehabilitated motherfucker and she kissed me back and then took my hand and said ‘that’s ok’ and we went off to the cemetery to fuck against one of the graves from the recently deceased dead dads this is a love story
we had sex on top of one of the graves she was sitting on top of it while i pulled her panties down and fucked her slowly while kissing her neck - i didnt feel a thing except the streetlight ahead of us peering down at me and filling up my body with the only warmth that could be found tonight this is a love story
sat against the grave of someone’s father named john and died in 1985 we smoked; naked; against the grass; i’m made of mud and clay and her from my rib i thought of the man whose grave we fucked against and i came on i hope he had kids and lived a happy life and had a nice job or maybe no job and had lots of money and was generally content and didnt have lungs full of tar and a mind full of shit like me b/c a couple of teenagers just came all over his last resting place this is a love story
two massive fuckers sat in a cemetery after having just had disgusting sex with post-orgasm cigarettes and were drinking 40s and already writing the poem about this shitty lay in their head while the world collapsed around them until all was left was them and their two shitty souls entwined permanently and tightly so that even if they were to love another (they didnt love each other) they would wake up in the middle of the night when they were 45 remembering that midnight fuck that took on the immensity of the universe i burnt a cigarette against my skin to feel the only pleasure possible when my cock was numb deep in cold passion and she ran off into the night without her shirt screaming at the night b/c she hated the moon and the moon hated her. this is a love story.
The first time I’ve seen this side of the street painted up! I’ve not even seen if the buttresses fit on the road, so I’m glad they worked out. I’ve gotta do stoops and stairs for the street level doors on this side, plus curbs to cover gaps. Now that the island is turned around, I’m inclined to finish this entire side before turning it back around. Buildings, river, banks and all.
Waking amongst an army of other campervans under the beating sun, it felt more like Portugal than the Western Isles. Not ones to shy away from prime outdoor weather, we threw everything out, hooked up the solar, gave the rugs a good slapping, and relished the chance to dry out our home on wheels after - what felt like - an eternity of rain.
Turning right back onto the one-track road and discovering its end a few miles further on, we dawdled along the grassy curb-side to ogle the stunning golden beaches running into turquoise waters, lapping up the small islands scattered along the coast. Keeping a number of locations in mind we drove back to Mangersta sands with an afternoon stroll in mind; after the shortest walk of our lives - roughly 500m - to the beach we decided this was where we’d stay tonight. And in the tent no-less.
Such a short walk prompted a rather ridiculously giddy air; without a monster trek it allowed us to bring luxuries such as the Goal Zero to charge our phones and copious amounts of water for far too many hot chocolates: hello Glamping! Camping beachside allowed Theo to hunt for some prime burnable wood, and we sat around a camp fire bite-free whilst the mosquitos kept at bay.
Up early the next morning (well, 7:30am counts as early?), I sipped my coffee outdoors as Theo still slumbered, poking the ashes of the now defunct fire. Itching for something to do I strolled along the still quiet beach, peeking into rock pools, paddling in the shallows, admiring the sand formations, and slowly noticing the colossal amount of trash littering the shore. Camouflaged amongst the rocks it took me a good hour or so to forage an entire crateful of plastic, netting, rope, and toothbrushes which only made the smallest dent in the litter but was therapeutic nonetheless. Debris is no joke in the oceans, so every little helps in matters like these, especially in remote locations.
Theo is capable of sleeping in no matter what, so it came as no surprise to discover him still snoring soundly once I returned. The only way to rouse him was to remove the outer layer of the tent, taking photos of him until he emerged.
An example of these materials includes ‘Bioboards’ produced from plants, grasses, recycled boxes, curb side waste, and industry scraps. These were shown to compare with (or even outperform) their petroleum-based counterparts, demonstrating high-strength-to-weight ratios.
“If manufactured and applied large-scale, the project inventions can divert large volumes of cellulose water into high performance, low embodied energy, environmental construction alternatives, that lessen society’s dependence on greenhouse gas emitting products associated with global warming.”
images courtesy of Julee Herdt, John Hunt, and Kellen Schauermann and used with permission.
There is a big ugly couch in my front yard. However we have no barefoot children or feral cats running around.
It’s my city’s annual curb-side cleanup. Residents set out stuff and the city will take it away for free this weekend. Next to my couch are some storm windows that have been in my garage rafters for years.
For the next 36 hours there will be a steady stream of people driving up and down the streets taking stuff. My guess is 75% of what is set out gets taken by scavengers before the city comes around Saturday morning.
Anything metal disappears within an hour. I’m sure this couch will be gone before dark. I’ve talked to guys who picked up old furniture. They’re usually apartment owners looking for cheap furnishings or young guys who want to move up from cinder blocks and boards.
Tomorrow night Sheila and I are having neighbors over for sandwiches and cocktails as we watch the parade.