A fucked up lot and a slap that won't happen.

I was up until 3am reading about FHA-insured mortgages and HUD houses. I'm trying to collect and examine the marbles in my brain. I'm counting the marbles again to make sure they're all there. A stroke of genius one moment is instant lunacy in the next.

Am I one man? Are these my hands on the wheel?

I drove to a fucked up abandoned lot at 39th and Girard. I peered through what was left of the fence and took inventory of the interior. A beat up box truck, a pile of broken concrete blocks, piles of dirt, various vehicles and a resilient forgotten tree. The area is East Parkside, and it is right behind the Philadelphia Zoo. Access to the river trails is nearly immediate, and open land and parks are a block away; over the bridge. The empty lot is for sale, and it could be yours tomorrow for $10,000. You can do whatever you want there and nobody would bat an eye.

I picture a Truck House or a House Truck. I picture a structure to live in, a garden and a workshop. I picture conforming loosely to code and zoning. Above all, I picture two middle fingers to paying rent and anyone telling me where to sleep. My hands want to build something that looks like art and feels like home. I have two hands for hi-fives, or one for a smack in the man's fucking mouth.