The 12th Can

It’s 8 AM on a rainy Tuesday morning.

I just cleaned my cell. Now I’m rinsing out my Seattle Seahawks trash can. It’s Seattle Seahawks because I clipped a Sports Illustrated magazine for all things Seahawks. Then I taped them to my gray waist can. I call it the “12th Can”. It’s the baddest bucket in the joint!

So I’m rinsing out the “12th Can” in the shower. In comes a guy named Cramp. How he got that name, I’ll never know. Maybe he gets a lot of cramps, or maybe he cramps other people’s styles. Or maybe his mother got a cramp, and out pops him.

Cramp says to me, “Say homeboy, why you gotta rinse your garbage can where other people shower?” His voice is a slow steady mono-tone. He just woke up and he’s dragging his feet.

I ignore him.

He pushes the issue by saying, “I know you heard me.”


At this point, I can go one of two ways. I can take offense, or I can suppress that thought and say something controlled and deliberate.

For a smart-ass combative response: CLICK HERE

For a controlled deliberate response: CLICK HERE


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