By Karl Hame III, Special to The Brutal Times – When I get home from life on the road I don’ t want to talk to nobody and I just keep wishin’ I was back in ‘Nam.
Wait – no, that’s not it at all.
I’m a kids’ mom, and when I get home from school I’m too tired to cook.
I tried cooking one a those goddam so-called hard boiled eggs and I gave myself a scar I’ll never forget.
In the old days a scar like that would get you bumped from Economy up to First Class. On an aeroplane.
Cooking requires time and concentration I just don’t have, mate.
The big question is how without cooking one is to feed oneself.
Or hisself or herself.
I don’t think about it. If I see food I grab it and stuff it in my mouth. No one owns food.
I guess you’d call me a foodie. But would you call it to my face? Could you tell my face from the rear of my head? From my efforts I’d say 50-50 you can’t.
God, I’m hungry.