I was telling Linda that I was a little embarrassed by our yards. "I don't want our neighbors to be embarrassed," I said.
We are in the Williamson neighborhood, and people keep very nice yards and gardens here.
So I thought about it, "Well, our particular neighbors aren't quite up to it, either. We're on the scruffy edge."
Sort of describes my life, I think. Pegasus Books is the scruffy edge of downtown. Probably the one space in the entire area that hasn't had a renovation in 30 years. (If you saw my store, you'd see why, but still...)
My appearance is the scruffy edge. I look like a homeless person right now. I tell myself that my long scruffy beard is just in the spirit of the Lumber look, that the style has circled back around to me. Like a stuck clock right twice a day.
My clothes are always a couple years old. (How this is possible, I don't know.) I'm driving a 1999 car with only 36K miles on it. When I inherited it a few years ago, it only had 20K miles on it. So a really nice older car. Scruffy edge.
My books are pretty scruffy. Donner Party werewolves and hyper-intelligent pigs on the rampage, and seductive Succubus's and love-lorn gargoyles and mid-life crisis Golems.
I don't think I would have it any other way.
16 hours ago