Junkyard dogs

So here we are. Back at CRC in our fabulous new space. Everything is sleek and elegant. And so why are we all sitting at a plastic table in lawn chairs at the dock door? Why, oh why, are we doing that?

We always start out inside, where it’s cool and organized and pretty. I usually wander out to the open dock door first to have a cigarette. Then I decide that if I just move the laptop out there, I can smoke whenever I want. So I do. The hum of the cement plant across the street is kind of soothing in a grating sort of way. Pretty soon, Kim and Betsy come out. Are they lonely? Is the siren song of the cement plant calling to them, too?

So we sit at the open dock door, having strategic meetings and talking about what we’re going to do for the weekend and, every once in awhile on a late Friday afternoon, having a thimbleful of wine. When Pico is here, Kim throws a rubber ball around the warehouse.

I guess we’re kind of like the junkyard dogs. No matter how nice our space is (and we LOVE it so don’t get the wrong idea), we just revert back to our scraggly, unkempt selves sometimes. In a place where flops and shorts are part of the dress code, maybe that’s the natural order of things.

Junkyard dogs

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