Fyodor Bukowski’s Special Day

I awoke to the soul-

soothing hum of the

window AC, with my


rescue cat “Ma Ma”

at my side

on the tolerably-

lumpy futon in

the bedroom of

the not-at-all

mobile “mobile

home” I’ve lived

in now for 16

years. Then

I pried open the 


guitar case

beside the futon

and pulled out

my all-mahogany

Chinese guitar and

picked n strummed

for a while, stopping

only to wet my

whistle on the

can of generic

ginger ale I’d

started the night

before. Of course,

I had to pull the


affixed with a

rubber band

from off the can

first, a precaution

to prevent any-

thing creepy crawly

from getting

inside, you


Then I

stumbled to

the “living room”

to feed and clean

up for the other

cats. Afterwards,

I chatted it up a 

on the net a bit

with a Vietnamese

cutie, whom I’m

afraid I’ll never

meet. But hey,

they just don’t

make ’em like

that around

here, know what

I mean? And

following that,

I read and

posted some


memes you’d

have to see to

believe. And

all this to

the sound-

track of the

park manager’s

lawn mower

mowing up and

down and down

and up the length

and breadth of my


sized front and

back lawns. And

all this made

me yawn and

smile a special

smile on my

special day.

— Fyodor Bukowski, author of 51lV9z8aeYL (1)