Everyone in Oakland is packing heat. This can sometimes be slightly disturbing, as I have never even so much as fired a gun. I fingered James' glock once, fondled Chris' shotgun, and his other various arms of questionable legality (read: Howitzer). But when I'm walking down the street and I happen upon the various citizens of this fair burg loading and unloading their various firearms with the various hollow-point bullets they so often favor, I usually become unglued.
Normally, I find the nice folks that run the laundrymat across the street to be charming, cute, and generally harmless. The old man in charge can fall asleep standing up, the lady is always smuling, and the other fellow who works there during the mornings has only one functional eye and seems frightened at all times. He even keeps the door locked and checks whoever comes in with that remaining shifty glazy. But when I entered yesterday, the first gentleman was inside busilly aranging the .38 and bullets he obviously kept in his pocket at all times. He seemed worried about my noticing this, and he shifted the contents of his hand back into his pocket quickly.
Nevermind the open-carrying fellow who was at the house the other night.
But I have no fear, for my trained attack rats, Hanpan and Langston are always by my side, ready to protect me. They're faithful little fellows who generally wouldn't hurt a fly, but I've trained them to violently accost anyone I cast my special attack phrase upon. All I need to say is "G. W." and they set upon whoever is unfortunate enough to be in front of us at the time. Last month i accidentally set them upon the mailman, and the little gys eviscerated him rather thoroughly.
But that's why the Basil is growing so well now. Humans make good fertalizer, in case you were wondering.
A few weeks back, V picked up Use Your Illusion X, where x = either 1 or 2. I'm not entirely sure which one she got, but she's been playing Civil War non-stop for the entire afternoon. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps she's got a bit of a thing for Slash. Having Guns and Roses in the house serves but to remind me of two things: the first is how much I hate Guns and Roses, and the second is how long I have until V buys Use Your Illusion Y, where y /= x.