or any good punkhose stories? I’m thinking of writing an article on this topic, concerning the tragedy of the commons — though it might also be an ode to the concept of private socialism either working or not working, depending on my mood that day.
nah, we know it doesn’t work.
but seriously, want to get into tragedy of the commons? walk into the kitchen of a punkhouse? or the porch. or the basement. or the living room. or someone’s bedroom: there are probably eight drunk cats and three high kids who don’t know each other or how they got there.
yet it somehow works. I want to get some stories. I’ll start: I lived in a punkhouse that was two apts but like…10 bedrooms. I was on the third floor and my other 3rd floor fellow was on the other side with significant other. my friend took that room for the night but opened the windows. Hours later, someone downstairs is looking for their sick, old fat cat. the damned thing was locked out on the rooftop to the alcove, because my friend closed the window and it happened to wander out while it was open.
so many areas to delve here. whose property? who’s rules? homesteading? “animal rights”? and of course, the owner of the goddamned animal. by the way, that cat puked everywhere. I was not sympathetic.
and we haven’t even gotten into the basement, where the magic happens.
any stories, thoughts?