it was raining, & i went out looking for a big piece of scrap metal to paint on. after the door shut & clicked i realized i was locked out. i walked around getting wet. earlier in the day someone called me and half laughingly related a (personally experienced) story about gender discrimination with sexual overtones. was i expected to laugh? i flagellated myself subconscioulsy with terrible images of her dates with business majors and misogynists. all respect to amy & amy, but when it comes to jurisprudence i still think the best solution is less juris & more prudence. i laughed at the absurdity of being locked out for the first time, in the rain, on thanksgiving, with one set of keys in tennessee and two hanging lovingly on a golden hook listening to dixieland jazz. it was a bitter laugh. after an hour or so of walking in the rain, cell phone beeping texts on my bed, i developed a tentative plan. sneaking past a suspicious neighbor into the foyer i squished my way to the roof (in wet socks). i don’t really want to dramatize what happened next, so here’s the schematic: our roof is really quite high, our fire escape is not as attached as it seems to be, climbing metal ladders in the rain is always a bad idea, and kicking in burglar bars is far easier than it should be. it was traumatic, but i thought of the fearlessness i would need freight hopping & that got me through — although i continued to be more-or-less traumatized into the evening. i guess i should add that my childhood inner ear surgeries left me… not a fan of heights. after forced ingress, i picked up my keys & my wallet and bought the largest bottle of Jameson in the store. Afterwards I made avocado sandwiches and painted the following study (inclusive of twisted ankle–left) for when i get a large piece of scrap metal. addenda: if you find yourself critiquing the aforementioned “photorealism” in the below, you don’t get the joke (and you probably haven’t read mr. feathers, either).