Tin Can + Literary Series
I'm really sorry I haven't gotten my column to you yet. In fact,
I'm not sure that I'll be able to get to it at all this month. I
know I should have contacted you sooner. I've made my deadline
every month for five fucking years! What could possibly be so special
about this month?
Well, things are kind of unusual. It's not every month that we quit
our jobs. It's not every month that we even have an opportunity to
quit our jobs.
Anyway, I have to make this quick. I found a motel up here in B.C.
with wireless, but I have to get back to them tomorrow, and I'm totally
exhausted. They have a certain level of impatience and paranoia that
makes me worry about my safety a little bit, but I figured out if
I don't piss them off or make them wait, they seem to be more able
to trust me. It was hard enough for them to allow a "hairless
pink" like myself into their world. Their culture is far more
complicated than I expected, having developed and evolved mainly
by means of isolationism and the attainment of only the tools and
information that they've chosen to let into their lives. They're
extremely democratic, but their choices are very final, very black
and white. I'm sorry, I'm probably not making any sense. Perhaps
because I spent Thanksgiving week among the Sasquatch. (If you decide
to publish this email, I leave it to you to figure out if Sasquatch
has a plural form; I think the plural of Sasquatch is also Sasquatch.)
Remember that bag of fake money that was left on my doorstep last
month? It wasn't fake. Those were real ten-thousand dollar bills!
The duffel bag was absolutely stuffed with them. They told me that
their people found this canvas bag about seventy years ago, and several
people throughout the years have been using it as a seat or a footrest
or a pillow. Now it's mine. But not for nothing.
I'll be looking for all the help I can get. When the Sasquatch finally
embraced satellite technology, they somehow discovered me on the
Web, and through some complex set of criteria, decided that I was
a guy who could help them, and they put all their money on me. I
gotta question their evolutionary development in this regard, but
what can I do now? I'm going along with their plan. Unfortunately,
they really like to take their time, so I'm not going anywhere for
As far as the money goes, I haven't turned it in yet. The way I
see it, it could be traceable back to some sort of famous bank robbery—the
money must belong to someone, and it probably isn't them or me. So
I'm being patient with that too, researching ways to move the money
just a little bit at a time, so I can make it last. I'm living off
of a couple of bills that I swapped with a collector last month.
Say hello to everybody and let me know if you need any suggestions
for replacing my column for December. Maybe a rerun of an old
piece. But stay away from my Christmastime writings—they
are extremly vulgar and depressing.