Last fall the landlords comissioned me to rip out a weed bed in which grew a nasty vine the lady half of the landlord duo despised. I was sent out to dispose of it, which took, when all was said and done, and everything isn't really done, about nine months. The little bastard would show its leaf-face, and I'd spring on it like an ant on a discarded rib. Finally, yesterday, feeling confident that I'd completely eradicated the enemy, I bought 600 lbs of suspiciously cheap and off-smelling topsoil, raked graded and seeded what will one day be some killer turf.
Before I continue this compelling narrative, I want to remark: Look at that bright f***ing L of straw! Light and shadow, ladies and gentlemen, light and shadow. This afternoon I purchased a bale of straw, not knowing the difference between stray and hay, and not really caring, and went about tossing the straw over the newly seeded bed. I cannot wait until there is some turf there. I am going to throw all my discarded summer meats onto it and photograph it until the cows come home.