Hey Scuffs, Shut Up!

2010-09-04T22:24:00.001-07:00

I live in a 500 square foot apartment in Chicago Illinois—filled with a vintage table I purchased off ebay, a couch set I found on Craig’s List, and bed I picked up at West Elm.

There’s scuffs on the wall where I use to park my road bike, which got stolen. I find it hard to say it’s my fault for leaving it outside over night, although I was warned not too. Who cuts through a metal lock? Now when I glimpse at the scuffs, they seem to say, “Shouldn't have left it outside.” I thought about cleaning them off, but they're right, and I should be reminded of my negligence.

Over all Chicago has treated me well. I’m a copywriter at Leo Burnett, and work with an incredibly talented art director named Ryan Stephens. He has a great wife and two beautiful kids. My Mother reminds me weekly of the need to find a girlfriend and get married. I tune her out by turning my focus to the scuffs on the wall, which at the time have something more interesting to say.

Pardi Time

Hey Scuffs, Shut Up!