#colorado junk yard

[toopeanutcrown]

Best Cash For Cars

We have been serving Colorado, metro Denver, Colorado spring areas, Boulder, Evergreens for the last 10 years. Our team proudly provides the best car removal and wrecking service in Denver.

[whiskyanndboots]

Brutal

Summary - "Dean, I care about our relationship way too much just to be your South Dakota good time while you're in town"

Pairing - DeanxReader - Platonic!BobbyxReader

Warnings -Angst, infodump for upcoming series, tension, no editing once again

Slight continuation of SNAP

Meeting Bobby Singer had changed your life entirely, he and Rufus had saved you and two co-workers from a vampire attack after several Friday night margaritas. Your co-workers were happy to forget it had ever happened, even denied it after awhile, you however couldn't let it go. You'd researched every single thing you could about vampires, your brief encounter helped you weed out the impossible from the highly probable. 

You call it some kind of early midlife crisis, you had regularly taken time off your job to track down victims of possible vampire attacks. You are well aware how unhinged that was, you even had the crazy person map on the wall with thread attached to markers detailing all the possible vampire attacks in the area you'd been able to find, colour coded and everything. 

You decided since you weren't actively looking to interact with any vampires, just gathering information tor curiosities sake that you were safe. 

The next 4 months you were practically obsessed and while on one of your solo road trips you found a lead in Colorado that lead you to another in New York. You had stopped in the small town of Sioux Falls for the day to rest before driving more. Seeing one of the men that had saved you in the aisle of a grocery store buying beer and hamburger helper was so unexpected you almost ran into a coca cola display. 

He had ducked his head when he'd recognised you, he had rushed the cashier when you'd gone to talk to him anyway and he'd started speed walking to his car when you dumped your things and followed him out. 

Bobby Singer was not happy when you told him what you'd been doing if the "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" was anything to go by. 

You'd told Bobby you weren't hunting, god no, you just wanted to know about this hidden world inside the one you thought you knew. You'd showed him the journal of vampire facts you'd written, which he immediately pointed out two wrong things you'd thought were correct.

He'd rubbed a hand down his face and stared for a moment. Then he asked how old you were, what you did and if you were married, children, basically everything about your life. He'd quickly realised you weren't going to be convinced into going home or letting this go so he begrudgingly told you his address. 

Right there in a Sioux Falls grocery store parking lot started your unlikely friendship.

You turned up at Bobby's the next morning and he grumpily educated you on vampires and let you have free rein of his extensive library so you'd go and leave him "the hell alone". Three weeks later, you'd quit your job and moved to Sioux Falls, you got a job at a tavern and rented a room nearby, you'd visit Bobby on weekends, sometimes even weekday afternoons. 

You'd never said you weren't impulsive or that you weren't escaping your old life. 

Around six weeks later you were living in Bobby's spare room, he'd said "Why are you wasting money on that shithole, I've got a room upstairs as along as you don't plan on annoyin' the crap outta me", you moved in and realised Singer Salvage was a mess on the business front. You'd spent your days researching monsters, trying to learn ancient languages which was as hard as it sounds, and organising Singer Salvage's inventory and sales. You'd quit your bar job when you'd started making Bobby money and he decided you were now his receptionist, both for hunters and the junk yard. It made it all more believable when you picked up and 'transferred' calls to your boss when cops called.

You'd later learn why Bobby was so willing to take you in. 

One night in late July, not long after you'd moved in, you'd both had a bit to drink and you built up the courage to finally ask Bobby about an old polaroid you'd found of himself and two young men. He'd told you about Dean and hell, how Sam's been of the grid ever since he died. Bobby had lost the two men he'd considered sons and you were filling some kind of void for him though he'd never admitted it, he wanted some companionship.

It was for the first time you really understood the sadness and loss that came with hunting, Bobby had many friends, not many close, but no family. 

The more time you spent with Bobby the soft spot you immediately had for him became ten times it's size. You learnt to cook more, he complained about the healthier things, but the guy had to watch his chloestrol. You cleaned when he was away and catlogued his never ending junk yard of parts and cars to sell. You still remembered the look on his face when you pulled out $2500 in cash you'd gotten on a day trip you'd taken to sell his stuff after he'd told you this 'junk wasn't worth that much". Problem was Bobby knew where every artififact, weapon, rare herbs and weird stuff was in his house, but he couldn't remember all the things he had buried out back amoungst the rusted out steel. 

Google had turned you into a parts expert, the only rule he had was to make sure he didn't need it and not to let any buyers here, public exchange only. 

It was an oddly simple life considering Bobby's profession. You became receptioinist for Singer Salvage by day and various FBI and Department of whatevers assistants in the shadows,he'd taught you how to answer phones while he was gone, what to say to keep the hunters out there covered and what kills what so you could help any hunter who called when he wasn't around. You were no Bobby, but you were getting better. 

Bobby had decided a beat up 1970 Chevy Chevelle was going to teach you all things cars, told you that you should know how to do things on your own, this one wasn't going so well, honestly Bobby had done most of it while you watched and admittedly zoned out for majority of it. 

The only thing Bobby wouldn't do was let you hunt. That was a hard, solid line and you did not mind in the slightest, you'd had to help on one salt and burn once when Bobby needed and that was enough. Monsters, ghosts and demons in theory were interesting, the reality of it you could miss. 

Bobby's drinking had you more worried than any supernatural creature did, you enjoyed the occasional alcoholic beverage, but the empty bottles you'd fine some mornings that weren't there when you went to bed worried you, but he would snap if you ever pushed. You were planning on a more subtle intervention.

You'd gone to a friends wedding in September and returned to absolute chaos of a resurection and an apocalypse. Bobby wanted you to pack your things and leave, you refused. You now wondered if that choice was a huge mistake. 

That was the first time you'd met Sam and Dean Winchester. 

It felt like a lifetime ago. 

It was February now and they'd missed both Christmas and New Years, you'd forced Bobby into swapping gifts on Christmas and by gifts you meant a bottle of scotch and some skincare gift pack Bobby must have grabbed at the grocery store, which strangely made you feel warm inside. 


You, Sam, Dean and Bobby were now sitting on Bobby's front porch and had been for the last few hours, just talking, it was nice considering how intense things had been for the last few months.


Sam and Dean had been through alot with the snippets Bobby had told you, despite how very much involved you were Bobby was still keeping it vague with what was going on out there. You'd heard them talking about a demon named Alistair, Lilith, Angels and Seals when you had turned on the shower and snuck out to listen to what they were talking about when they thought you couldn't hear.

Lilith. 

She hadn't come for you, it'd been months. Your rescue from her demon minions was miraculous and you'd been living on the edge ever since, Lilith had said she needed you for something, you have no idea what. 

You laughed loudly with everyone at Bobby's story about a hunt with Rufus, you were pleasantly buzzed after a few vodka limes on this particularly hot afternoon. You liked when Dean and Sam came, especially when you had moments like this, moments when you could pretend the apocalypse wasn't looming over you all. 

You stood up asking if anyone else wanted another drink with an all around yes. You said you'd get some snacks too.

Three days ago when Sam and Dean arrived was the first time you'd seen Dean since the motel room incident two months ago. Some nights you couldn't sleep thinking about that night, just rolling around unable to get comfortable or relaxed because you couldn't stop relieving the way Dean's hands felt on your skin, how his mouth felt against yours. 

Neither of you had brought it up again, just like you'd asked. 

You opened the refrigerator pulling out some cheese, dip and salami and crackers. The first time you'd made a glorified cheese platter for Bobby he'd scrunched his face up at 'this fancy crap' you'd stared at him incredulously, 'fancy? It's lazy dinner'

Now he's a cheese platter fiend, not that he'd admit it. You regularly drink beer on a Saturday afternoon eating too much cheese and breadsticks while watching football or reality TV.

"Want some help?" Dean's voice startled you, you turned around from cutting salami to see him leaning in the door way. 

"No, I'm nearly done, do you want your beer?" You asked grabbing a bottle from there fridge and holding it out towards him to quick not to be obviously nervous. 

Dean pushed off the doorway, his eyes moved down your body as he crossed the room, so brazenly, you were immediately off kilter. The tank top and denim shorts suddenly made you feel suddenly bare.

You wouldn't let him know, you wouldn't show him how much he rattled you. You were an adult for god sake, why did he make you so nervous and stupid? he never used to. 

You'd been lulled into a false sense of security, you weren't sure if it was going to be awkward when you watched the Impala roll up the driveway, but to your great relief Dean was completely normal, he was even back to his old self and wasn't treating you like you were cotton wool.

The blatant way he was checking you out caught you off guard, It had to be the alcohol you'd all consumed.


He took the bottle from your hand and you quickly turned back to the food you were getting ready, you took a swig of the vodka you'd made yourself to calm down.

You had to get a grip on yourself. 

"I'll be out soon" You said without turning around. You just had to get this ready and go back out and continue drinking, eating and laughing, no issues.

"You been doing ok, feel like we haven't talked?" Dean asked from behind, damnit he wasn't leaving.

He was right, you'd found yourself alone with him two days ago while you were making some tweaks to the Chevelle, you were about to get Bobby to check it over, you weren't an overly confident home mechanic without him yet. 

"She not running?" Dean's voice made you jump. 

"Jesus, Dean" You huffed holding your chest.

"Bit on edge there (Y/N)" He laughed "What's going on?" He peered under the hood beside you. 

"Making a weird noise, I think something is loose and vibrating on the engine, I'm pretty sure it's here" You pointed, looking at Dean for assurance.

“Can I have a look?" Dean questioned raising his eyebrows. 

"Sure" You smiled easily moving out of his way.

Dean leant under the hood and peered into your engine bay "Can you turn her on?" 

You moved to the front seat and turned the key until you heard Dean yell to stop. You jumped out and came back to stand beside him.

"Very close, looks like that one, but it's further back" He strained leaning further in and gestured "Over here" you peered over his shoulder. 

"We can get this apart and tighten it up this afternoon, won't take long" He smiled widely. 

So you did, well mostly Dean did while you watched.

"There' Dean grunted twisting the wrench into place. 

You were suddenly very distracted by Dean's arms, he was pulling on the wrench, tan skin bulging as he pulled it tighter, his grey t-shirt was straining against the size of his arm, Dean was talking and you realised you weren't listening when he raised his eyebrow. 

"Sorry, what?" Pull yourself together 

Dean repeated himself looking at you and the car to make sure you understood. He was so unaffected, ofcourse he was, Dean would've been with plenty of women on the road since you last seen him, you're such an idiot. You just needed to avoid direct eye contact and get through the next few days. 

"Should be good as new" Dean said as he finished putting everything back together "Start her up" 

You did as he said and naturally there was no more weird noise. 

'Thanks, Dean " You smiled genuinely "saved me alot of time and taught me something new"

"It's all good, I needed to get out of the house, there's only so much Sam and Bobby talkin' ancient languages and lore I can take" He wiped his hands off with a rag, once again the movement made his arms bulge, all that thick muscle not from a gym, from hunting because he was strong, you knew first hand how firm he was. 

You glanced up and see Dean looking straight at you, you felt your cheeks heat up from embarrassment and swallowed quickly moving to shut the hood of the car, Dean was still watching you with an unreadable look on his face. 

Suddenly that familiar feeling of being too close came over you, you could feel the warmth of his skin and you weren't even touching.

"Should get back inside" You said quickly.

"Yeah' He answered, his voice suddenly deeper. You looked back at him and you did not like the change in demeanour at all.

You really wish you never opened this can of worms. 

"Yeah there's been alot going on, I've been good, Bobby and i have had a couple of hunts, he wants to lay low for the most part" You answered. 

Dean leaned onto the counter beside you, his posture was relaxed, but his brow was pinched. You turned to look at him, you nervously licked your lips, Dean's eyes shot down to the movement, copying it himself. You knew if there was any shot of forgiveness with Jo, you could never ever do what you did again, you hadn't meant to the first time.

"You? Alot more going on out there than here, I'm sure" You tried to keep it light while you distracted yourself with placing cheese cubes.


"Nothing new so far, just your regular end of the world stuff" he'd answered with a tired sigh, a pained look flashed across his eyes which was gone just as quickly. 

You smiled weakly with the corner of your mouth and opened a pack of crackers. You were sure it was much more complicated.

"So tell me" He began fake casually after a short silence, your body tensed at his tone.

"You going to be weird around me all the time now?" He continued. 

"I'm not being weird" You replied quickly. 

"You're being weird right now" Dean's grin was teasing, definitely beer spearheading this conversation. He was also right, You and Dean had an easy connection that had been strained since that night in the motel. 

"I'm fine Dean, really" You answered, probably a little too reassuringly. 

"You won't even look at me anymore" 

You sighed deeply and tilted your head to meet his gaze raising your eyebrow. You had never let any man make you feel this jittery, you weren't going to start now. He's just Dean, a man.

You turned back to finish what you were doing, Dean chuckled, you could feel his eyes on you, this had to stop now.

if Dean wanted to talk then you'd talk.

"What are you doing, Dean?" You turned to face him fully trying to keep your voice casual.

"What are you doing, (Y/N)?" He countered grinning, like this was a game.


You frowned confused, you were ignoring this thing exactly like you were supposed to. Dean chuckled looking down for a second shaking his head.

"You tell me you want to forget what happened and then you keep looking at me like you want to jump my bones" He stared at you, you were making a huge bold mental note not to be alone with Dean when he's been drinking all day because apparently his already huge balls got even bigger.

"I do not" You whispered, eyes wide, looking at the door making sure no one was there "I meant what I said" you insisted.

"Why?" He asked suddenly serious. 

"Why?" You repeated incredulously 

"You want to" He stated. You could tell Dean Winchester didn't get rejected very often, you could see why too. That cocky grin, that handsome face and playfulness that you knew would show you a good time. 

"Really, cause it sounds like you're trying to convince me" You raised an eyebrow keeping your tone just as playful. He laughed sliding closer to you.

“Dean, we had a fight, that got out of control, thats all" You continued. 

"Sweetheart, I have fights with people all the time and they don't end like that, unless they started like that" Your heart was thumping in your chest, it hadn't started like that though, it really did catch you off guard. You and Jo were on shaky ground as it was, but almost back to normal after months of trying to fix what happened. 

"Look Dean we work together, we're friends, Jo is my best friend, there's a whole apocalypse, it's just messy" You finished making your snack platter intent on leaving this kitchen. 

"Jo?" He questioned, in your panic you'd slipped up. 

"Is that what this is about?" He leaned in closer towards you.

"No" You said quickly. 

"(Y/N), Jo is like a little sister to me, nothing's going on with us, nothing has even been going on" His face was full on reassurance, but you felt none of it. Your heart broke for Jo, little sister, ouch. 

You crossed your arms with a sigh and turned to face Dean, your face hard you needed a final blow. 

"You know Dean, I really didn't take you for a guy who needed to be told no twice" Even as it left your mouth your stomach was turning in knots. 

Dean's face feel and all playfulness and flirting was gone. 

"(Y/N) I didn't-" He looked so upset with himself.

"It's fine, really" you interupted "Dean, I care about our relationship way too much just to be your South Dakota good time while you're in town" You tried to make light of the situation.

"You're not just a good time" Dean looked insulted.

"Yeah, I'm a pain in the ass too, I know" You smiled trying desperately to get this conversation over.


"Right" He ran a hand over his mouth clearing his throat and looked away. A heavy silence fell over the kitchen.

You felt awful, but you were honest, you didn't want to be another notch in Dean Winchesters bed post. 

"You two good?" Bobby’s gruff voice startled the both of you. 

"Yeah" You both said unconvincingly at the same time. 

"Here, I'll take that for you" Dean grabbed the platter and his beer and disappeared through the doorway. 

"Should I be worried about that?" Bobby asked from behind you as you were gathering the beer for the rest of you from the fridge. 

"No" You scoffed, guilt still churning in your stomach.


"Dean's a good man, you know I love him like a son" Bobby continued.

"God, Bobby i'm not trying anything on Dean" You pleaded.

"Dean isn't the kind of guy for you (Y/N)" Bobby took his beer from your hand. 

You were surprised, that wasn't what you were expecting. 

"A hunter isn't the kind of man you should be going after" he clarified "It'll be nothing, but heartbreak or death at the end of that road"

"It's ok, Bobby. Don't worry, we're just friends" You patted his shoulder.

There was very little chance of Dean ever making a move on you again, so you weren't worried either.



[vailvalleywaste]

Get Efficient Trash Collection Services Today!

Whether it’s junk removal, yard waste, or construction debris that needs taking away, we do it all so that your area is clean and tidy. Our flexible trash removal in Edwards, Colorado, coupled with our affordable pricing, make it easy for you to get back your space. Contact Vail Valley Waste at 970-977-9228 for more details!

[complete-disposal-llc]

Dumpster Rental Colorado City CO

Magnify your waste management solutions with efficient dumpster rental in Colorado City, CO. Nestled in Pueblo County, Colorado City is a charming community that blends natural beauty and small-town appeal. To ensure the cleanliness and orderliness of this picturesque town, effective waste management is essential, and dumpster rentals provide a convenient and reliable solution.

Dumpster rentals are versatile and can accommodate various types of waste. From household junk and yard debris to construction materials and old furniture, dumpsters can handle it all. This versatility is particularly useful in a diverse community like Colorado City, where waste management needs can vary widely. By choosing a dumpster rental, you ensure that all your waste is managed efficiently and responsibly.

Environmental responsibility is another crucial aspect of dumpster rentals in Colorado City. Many rental services prioritize eco-friendly disposal methods, ensuring that recyclable materials are separated and processed appropriately. This commitment to sustainability helps reduce the environmental impact of waste and supports Colorado City's efforts to preserve its natural surroundings. By opting for a dumpster rental, you contribute to the community's environmental goals and promote a cleaner, greener future.

In addition to the practical benefits, dumpster rentals also offer financial advantages. Many rental companies in Colorado City provide competitive pricing and flexible rental periods, allowing you to choose a solution that fits your budget and timeline. This affordability makes dumpster rentals an attractive option for both residential and commercial projects, ensuring that waste management remains cost-effective.

Overall, renting a dumpster in Colorado City is a smart choice for anyone looking to manage waste efficiently and responsibly. Whether you are undertaking a small home project or a large-scale construction job, a dumpster rental can provide the convenience, versatility, and environmental benefits you need. By keeping Colorado City clean and beautiful, you contribute to the community's well-being and ensure that it remains a wonderful place to live and visit. Embrace the benefits of dumpster rental and make waste management a seamless part of your project in Colorado City, CO.

Featured Business:

Enhance your waste management experience with Complete Disposal LLC, the leading provider of dumpster rental in Colorado City, CO. We specialize in offering a wide range of dumpster sizes to accommodate various project needs, whether you're tackling a home renovation, construction cleanup, or large-scale commercial project. Our dumpsters are built to handle heavy loads, ensuring a smooth and efficient disposal process. With a commitment to prompt delivery and pick-up services, we make waste management hassle-free and convenient for our clients. At Complete Disposal LLC, we prioritize customer satisfaction by providing reliable, affordable, and environmentally responsible solutions.

Contact: Complete Disposal LLC 1330 32nd Ln, Pueblo, CO 81006, United States 6GM5+RM Pueblo, Colorado, USA (719) 948–7686 https://www.completedisposal.co/dumpster-rental-colorado-city-co/

YouTube Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vitV7KBX1BA

YouTube Playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOctls3SkQKMi5xFd3kvbEgxbpXry50Re

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/complete-disposal/dumpster-rental-colorado-city-co

Soundcloud Playlist: https://soundcloud.com/complete-disposal/sets/dumpster-rental-colorado-city-co

Medium Post: https://medium.com/@completedisposal148/dumpster-rental-colorado-city-co-0b27216d1b1f

Weebly: https://dumpsterrentalcoloradocityco.weebly.com/

Tumblr Post: https://complete-disposal-llc.tumblr.com/post/756225459746963456/dumpster-rental-colorado-city-co

Strikingly: https://dumpsterrentalcoloradocityco.mystrikingly.com

Google MyMaps: https://www.google.com/maps/d/viewer?mid=1o8ynoWVsqw2Fl5G9IlWO9cemw6rmGuI

Google Map CID: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16426892478472532679

Google Site: https://sites.google.com/view/dumpster-rental-co/

Twitter List: https://x.com/i/lists/1813436828319658458

Twitter Tweets: https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443328387752083 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443445362680315 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443516409975041 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443590309449897 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443677928452434 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443801689780632 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443874980782103 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813443947844559057 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444023912391022 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444443628007791 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444587937255652 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444666718630039 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444737841643686 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444810822631534 https://x.com/CompleteDsposal/status/1813444882582962580

BatchGeo: https://batchgeo.com/map/dumpster-rental-colorado-city-co

[303junk]

303 Junk Removal - Hauling - Recycling Denver Colorado

Simplify Your Life with 303 Junk Removal: Denver's Premier Waste Management Service

In today’s bustling world, keeping your space clutter-free can be a challenge. That’s where 303 Junk Removal steps in as Denver’s leading waste management service. Serving Denver, Aurora, Lakewood, Westminster, Arvada, Thornton, Centennial, Broomfield, Highlands Ranch, Littleton, Englewood, and Golden, we specialize in residential and commercial junk removal, hauling, and recycling solutions that are both efficient and environmentally responsible.

Why Choose 303 Junk Removal?

At 303 Junk Removal, we pride ourselves on delivering top-notch service with a focus on customer satisfaction. Here’s why we’re the best choice for your waste management needs:

Comprehensive Services: From clearing out clutter in homes and offices to hauling construction debris and managing yard waste, we handle it all. Our services also include appliance and furniture disposal, electronic waste recycling, and compassionate estate cleanouts.

Eco-Friendly Approach: We are committed to sustainability. Our team ensures that as much waste as possible is recycled or donated, minimizing landfill impact and supporting a greener environment.

Professionalism and Reliability: With years of experience, our professional team guarantees fast and efficient service. We arrive on time, handle your items with care, and leave your space clean and clutter-free.

Transparent Pricing: We offer competitive rates with no hidden fees. Get a free, no-obligation quote to know exactly what to expect.

Local Expertise: As a locally owned and operated business, we understand the unique needs of Denver residents and businesses. We provide personalized service tailored to your specific requirements.

Contact 303 Junk Removal Today

Ready to simplify your life and reclaim your space? Contact 303 Junk Removal today at 720-371-2869 or visit our website at 303junk.com. Discover why we’re Denver’s go-to waste management service and experience the ease of a clutter-free environment with 303 Junk Removal.

 303 Junk Removal Denver, Waste Management Service Aurora CO, Junk Hauling Lakewood, Eco-Friendly Recycling Westminster, Residential Junk Removal Arvada, Commercial Cleanouts Thornton, Construction Debris Disposal Centennial, Yard Waste Management Broomfield, Appliance Disposal Highlands Ranch, Furniture Removal Littleton, Electronic Waste Recycling Englewood, Estate Cleanouts Golden CO

[preferredrolloffservices]

Importance of Professional Trash Hauling Services

Want your area neat and clean without any Hustle? Don't worry—the experts at the trash dumpster company in Colorado Springs know how to do that. They simply remove all junk from your home. They also haul away big appliances such as your old furniture, yard waste, etc. Hire a professional for the best trash hauling in Colorado Springs. They know how to do it better. Read more: https://qr.ae/psW7b9

[dumpsterrentalcrewthornton]

Thornton's Quick and Convenient Same Day Dumpster Rentals

Are you in need of a fast and reliable solution for your waste removal needs in Thornton, CO? Look no further! Our Same Day Dumpster Rentals in Thornton CO offer the perfect solution for your immediate disposal needs. Whether you're tackling a home renovation, cleaning out your garage, or managing a construction project, our same day dumpster rentals are here to make your life easier.

Why Choose Our Same Day Dumpster Rentals in Thornton CO?

•Swift and Convenient Service: We understand that sometimes you need a dumpster rental at a moment's notice. Our same day rental service ensures that you can get your project back on track quickly.

•Variety of Dumpster Sizes: No matter the size of your project, we have a range of dumpster sizes available to accommodate your specific needs. From compact options for small cleanups to larger containers for major construction projects, we've got you covered.

•Affordable Rates: We believe in providing top-quality service without breaking the bank. Our competitive rates make it easy to access the waste disposal solutions you require.

•Local Expertise: We are a part of the Thornton, CO community and understand the unique needs of our neighbors. Our local knowledge ensures that you get the best service tailored to your area.

•Environmentally Responsible: We prioritize responsible waste disposal. Rest assured that your waste will be handled and disposed of in an eco-friendly manner, in compliance with local regulations.

How It Works

•Contact Us: Get in touch with our friendly team to discuss your project and the type of dumpster you need. We'll guide you through the process and provide a quote.

•Same Day Delivery: Once you've confirmed your order, we'll promptly deliver the dumpster to your location on the same day. You won't have to wait for days to get started.

•Fill It Up: Now, you can start filling the dumpster with your waste materials, debris, or junk. Whether it's household items, construction debris, or yard waste, our dumpsters can handle it all.

•Pickup and Disposal: When your project is complete, contact us, and we'll schedule a pickup. We'll haul away the dumpster and ensure that the waste is disposed of properly, leaving your property clean and clutter-free.

Don't let waste removal slow down your project. With our Same Day Dumpster Rentals in Thornton CO, you can streamline your cleanup and waste management process. Contact us today to get started, and experience the convenience of same-day service in Thornton, Colorado.

https://www.dumpsterrentalcrewthornton.com/

[bargainbinnns4568]

Simplify Your Cleanup with Bargain Bins' 3 Yard Dumpster Rental in Colorado

Are you tired of dealing with clutter, junk, or construction debris piling up at your home or job site? Bargain Bins is here to help simplify your cleanup process with our 3 yard dumpster rental service. Discover how our 3 yard dumpster, also known as a 3 cubic yard bin, can make your cleanup project in Colorado a breeze.

The Perfect Size for Your Needs

Sometimes, bigger isn't always better when it comes to dumpster rentals. Bargain Bins' 3 yard dumpster strikes the perfect balance between capacity and convenience. It's ideal for residential projects, small renovations, or even a cluttered "clutter barn." Our 3 yard bin can handle a variety of materials, making it a versatile choice for your cleanup needs.

A 3 Yard Dumpster Rental Near Me - Why It Matters

When you're tackling a cleanup project, you don't want to waste time and effort traveling long distances to rent a dumpster. Bargain Bins understands this, which is why we have strategically placed our services to offer a 3 yard dumpster rental near you. This means you can focus on your cleanup without the added stress of long trips or delays.

Choosing Bargain Bins for Your Cleanup Project

Why should you choose Bargain Bins for your 3 yard dumpster rental needs in Colorado?

Affordability: Our rental rates are competitive, ensuring you get excellent value for your money.

Local Expertise: We know Colorado and its unique cleanup challenges, so we can provide personalized solutions.

Efficiency: We deliver and pick up your dumpster on time, so you can stay on schedule.

Simple Booking: Our online booking system is straightforward and user-friendly.

Environmentally Responsible: We prioritize responsible waste disposal and recycling to minimize your environmental impact.

Let's Get Started!

Say goodbye to clutter and hello to a clean, organized space with Bargain Bins' 3 yard dumpster rental service. Contact us today to book your 3 yard dumpster rental near you and simplify your cleanup project. Trust Bargain Bins to make your clutter disappear, leaving you with a fresh start and peace of mind.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Fireside Song - 3x09 Coda

Um, did you think Michael was going to say he had a heart to heart over Alex with Sanders and I wasn’t going to write something???

Also on AO3!

***

The sun has long since set by the time Michael climbs out of his lair and starts looking for the six pack he left in the back of his mini fridge. He’s cut way back on his drinking these last few months, but Alex is stuck working late and he’s got nothing better to do than crack open a beer or two in front of his fire pit. 

Once he gets the fire going, Michael collapses into one of his creaky old lawn chairs with a tired sigh and reaches out his palm, willing one of the bottles in his six pack to float up and into his grasp. The glass is cool against his skin, a welcome contrast the growing heat of the fire against his legs.

Michael stares at the flames dancing in front of him as he flicks off the cap and takes a sip, thinking of the fireplace he spotted in Alex’s living room the last time he was there. He wonders if he ever actually uses it, if maybe he should stop and pick up some firewood for him the next time he drives over. It would be nice, he thinks, for the two of them to curl up together on his couch in front of the fireplace, or, better yet, to litter the floor with pillows and blankets the way they used to in the bed of Michael’s truck when they were kids. 

He can imagine it perfectly: the firelight casting flickering shadows over Alex’s face as he lies beside him, his thigh slipping between Michael’s as he presses in close and runs his fingers through his curls. Warmth that has nothing to do with the fire spreads through him at the thought and Michael wishes more than anything that he was holding Alex in his arms right now. 

It’s amazing, really, that Michael’s spent most of the last decade not touching Alex, but now that they’re together—in a real relationship, he reminds himself with no small sense of wonder—Michael can’t fathom how he ever lived like that. Now he feels Alex’s absence like a physical thing, a tug at the center of his chest pulling him toward his other half as surely as if they were two pieces of the same console. 

It scares him as much as it thrills him. He knows that building a life with Alex is never going to be as easy as wanting it, that the path ahead of them is long and arduous. As Michael sinks deeper into his chair, he can’t help but wonder if they’ll make the journey—and how the hell he’s going to survive it if they don’t.

A door slams in the distance and Michael looks up to see Sanders exit his office. Michael waves at him with the bottle in his hand and the second the old man finishes locking up for the night he turns and crosses the yard over to him. 

“The hell are you out here brooding for?” Sanders asks as he approaches. 

“I’m not brooding,” Michael shoots back. “I’m thinking.”

“Huh,” Sanders huffs, taking a seat beside him. He reaches down to steal a beer from the six pack sitting in the dirt by Michael’s boot. “Could have fooled me.”

Michael just takes another sip of his beer. It’s warmer now than it was when he opened it, but it’s still decent.

“You got a church key lying around here?” Sanders asks, holding up his still-capped bottle. 

In lieu of a verbal response, Michael lifts his right hand off the armchair and uses his powers to flick the top of the bottle off. 

Sanders looks at the cap lying discarded in the dirt a few feet away with something like amazement on his face before he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Aliens.”

Michael tips his bottle at him in a salute, his lips pulling into a grin.

They sit together in silence for a moment before Sanders finally says, “So, you’re not brooding. What are you thinking about then?” 

Michael takes a deep breath before he admits, “Alex.”

“Oh, so we’re done pretending you two aren’t a thing?” Sanders asks.

Michael hides his smile against his collar. “Yeah, we’re, uh, definitely a thing now.”

“About damn time,” Sanders says, reaching over to clink the neck of his bottle against Michael’s before he takes a long pull of his beer. 

“Tell me about it,” Michael laughs before Sanders words really catch up with him. “Wait—how long have you even known about us?”

Sanders looks up as he thinks about it before he answers, “You remember that summer you got your Airstream and started parking out here so you’d be closer to work?” 

“That was nine years ago,” Michael says, more than a little stunned. He’d assumed Sanders had watched them interact sometime over the last two years or so, when Alex was back in Roswell for good and they’d been spending more and more time together.

Sanders gives him a deadpan stare as he says, “I’m sorry, did you think you were being discreet when you shoved him up against the side of your trailer in broad daylight and—?”

“You know what?” Michael interrupts suddenly, a flush beginning to form on his cheeks as he remembers where that sentence is headed. “Nevermind. Forget I asked.”

Sanders snickers beside him and takes another sip of his beer before he asks, “So what’s the matter then?”

“What do you mean?” Michael asks. 

“I’ve known you a long time, kid,” Sanders says. “You don’t sit out here like this if there’s not something going on in that head of yours. You wanna stop playing dumb and tell me what it is?”

Michael takes a deep breath. “Alex and I are having our first date tomorrow night.”

“You nervous?” Sanders guesses.

Michael nods, shifting his grip on the bottle in his hand. “We don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to communication. As good as things are right now… I’m worried we’re gonna fall into old patterns and fuck it all up.”

Sanders is quiet for a moment, his chin caught between his fingers in apparent thought before he finally asks, “Do you love him?” 

“More than anything,” Michael says automatically, the words almost spilling out of him.

“Then you’ll be fine,” Sanders says with a confidence Michael can’t understand.

“How can you possibly know that?” he asks.

“You love that piece of shit truck you drive, right?” Sanders asks, jerking his thumb in its direction across the lot.

 “Of course I do,” Michael scoffs, mildly offended. That truck’s been with him through so much—Hell, once upon a time it was even his home.

He’s about to tell him off for insulting his baby like that when Sanders continues, “Well, say you’re driving to Colorado to bring an old friend of yours a mysterious package he tells you not to open—“

“Is this a true story?” Michael asks, an amused quirk to his lips.

“Yes, now shut the hell up,” Sanders says, making Michael laugh as he continues, “Anyway, say you’re driving along and all of a sudden your engine breaks. Are you gonna just abandon your truck on the side of the road and start hitchhiking?”

“No,” Michael says. “I’d tow it back here and fix it.”

“Exactly,” Sanders says, as if Michael has already proven his point. “You love that piece of junk, you’re not gonna just walk away from it. You’re gonna find a way to make it purr again.”

Michael gets what he’s saying, but he can’t help but point out, “Engines can break beyond repair, Sanders.”

“Sure,” he concedes. “If you don’t take care of them.”

Michael thinks about that for a beat, long enough for Sanders to continue, “Look, I ain’t sayin’ it’ll be easy, but when you hit a rough patch, don’t just call it quits. Talk to him. Find a way to—”

“Make him purr?” Michael jokes.

“If that’s what you’re into,” Sanders says.

Michael shakes his head in amusement, his heart lighter than before. The old man’s right, he thinks—He loves Alex more than anything. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep him.

“Thanks, Sanders,” he says, smiling down the neck of his beer bottle. 

“Don’t mention it,” Sanders says, waving him off. “Just make sure there’s an open bar at your wedding, okay?”

Michael laughs sharply at that. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his stomach flipping over as he thinks about it. “I think I can make that happen.”

[wandering-okie-boyz]

Boom! Hitting it hard, first hour I had off in two weeks! Had @beautifulmysterious13 in the yard with me this morning! Ended up getting some cab corner speaker mounts, E-Brake, and the panel under the steering column. Had a blast with the love of my life this morning!!!

[kvetchlandia]

Dave Heath     New York City     c.1957

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

--Allen Ginsberg, “Howl, part 1″  1956

[newloverofbeauty]

Richard Avedon:  Peter Orlovsky & AllenGinsberg  (1963)

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

 dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

 angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, 

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural 

darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, 

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, 

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, 

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, 

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, 

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, 

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night 

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, 

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, 

illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, 

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over 

the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun 

and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings 

and kind king light of mind, 

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx 

on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-

wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, 

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale 

beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, 

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, 

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and 

eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes,

 meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, 

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, 

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,

 who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, 

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, 

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, 

 who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, 

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, 

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, 

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and 

followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, 

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and 

the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, 

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big 

pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

 who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, 

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing 

while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed 

down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, 

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, 

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime 

but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, 

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, 

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, 

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, 

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, 

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath 

when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, 

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate 

the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb

 and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom, 

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of 

cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall 

and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, 

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed 

in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, 

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, 

cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable 

lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops 

in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & 

especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, 

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden

 Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay 

and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

 who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a 

door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium, 

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the 

wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, 

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, 

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, 

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, 

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, 

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, 

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, 

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, 

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, 

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to 

open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, 

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine 

shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, 

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown 

and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, 

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the 

filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses 

barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz 

finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, 

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, 

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision 

or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, 

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, 

who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out 

the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, 

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, 

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads 

and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, 

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers 

to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, 

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, 

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented 

themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and 

who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, 

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, 

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the 

visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, 

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes 

of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

 with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M.

 and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, 

a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— 

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time— 

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the 

alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane, 

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and 

trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs 

and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater 

Omnipotens Aeterna Deus 

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you 

speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

 the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, 

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and 

blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma 

sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio 

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat 

a thousand years. 

 –Allen Ginsberg, “Howl, part 1″ 1956

[kory-design]

Welcome to Friday everyone! I believe this is a 67 Fairlane (maybe Galaxie?) for #frontendfriday This was shot in my favorite junk yard in Missouri last year. I love these classics just hanging out taking in the view while waiting to be restored. . . . . KustomCarPhotography.com #Kustom #Car #Photography #Colorado #Denver #Friday #Frontendfriday #automotivephotography #carsofinstagram #americanmuscle #classiccar #instacar #hotrod #oldschool #ratrod #oldcar #hamb #hopup #delux #hotrodhillclimb #hotroddirtdrag #ricoh #pentax #photooftheday #reclaimedbynature #cars_abandoned #ford #fairlane #urbex_utopia (at Missouri) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBoKt0Tna7x/?igshid=1c52v0sgifkfw

[gunnardown]

parts unknown.

Tagging→ Gunnar Leidolf  

Time Frame→ October 31, 2020 

Location→ Murphy’s Auto; Sangren, Colorado 

General Notes → settling into a routine.

Gunnar eased himself off the parked Triumph with a low grunt and headed towards the shop. It was loud, as always. The clangs and whirring of tools and the occasional spark that had started to be as familiar to him as the background chatter at the bar. This, though, was calming work. New, but harnessed his energy into focusing in a way that hours watching the drunken idiots doing their idiotic song and dance could never really give. 

Not that he didn’t mind his job. It paid the bills and got him away from the television. But aside from it, and the occasional bouts of boxing at the gym, there were few ways to channel the energy that constantly coursed through him. 

And then, last year... late May, The Car happened. 

It was a total rust bucket. Worse than anything Gunnar had ever seen, a hollow shell of a car that had seen some serious glory days but was now literally pushing up daisies in the Sangren junkyard. It seemed such a waste. A classic gone to seed, and it hadn’t taken much to convince the owner of the yard to give it to Gunnar for a reduced rate. “Gonna cost more to fix than it’s worth the trouble.” 

Gunnar liked a challenge. 

Four hundred bucks, a borrowed truck, and a lot of cursing later, he’d managed to haul the pile of ‘classic American muscle’ to Murphy’s. The owner in question. a tall-broad shouldered man had eyed him warily. 

“Don’t got the parts for a Shelby Mustang in here.” 

Gunnar had shrugged. “If you order, I can do the work. Pay you too.” 

He didn’t flinch under the wandering gaze of the older man, watching as Murphy folded his arms across his barrel chest, muscles flexing under dark brown skin. “You know cars?” 

Gunnar nodded. “Know enough. Worked in a few shops. Rebuilt my bike.” 

That seemed to please Murphy, judging from the short nod and the offer he extended to Gunnar. Working a few hours in the shop in exchange for discounts on the parts he’d need for the Mustang. 

“Gonna take a long time. But I ‘spect you know that.” 

“Not afraid of work.” 

He wasn’t. Murphy was ran his shop as smoothly as a well oiled machine and Gunnar did his best not to upset the rhythm. When he wasn’t putting in time with his Mustang, his focus and hands belonged to whatever task Murphy tossed his way. Good work. Honest work. And since an earlier incident when he’d nearly sliced open his hand, sober work. 

“Won’t tolerate none of that junk in here,” Murphy reminded him. “Keep your head down, and your nose clean. Don’t need anybody pokin’ around, asking questions and slapping me with lawsuits.” 

It was easy enough. Gunnar found controlling the rage in him wasn’t too hard with something else to funnel his energy into. A project, something mindless, something he was actually enjoying. And maybe it was better, not being so out of it. 

And so the auto shop became one of those things slotted into his routine. And that in itself was also strange. He’d become a ‘routine guy’. Settled in a spot for so long, perhaps even he’d lost track of the time. The ebb and flow of Sangren hadn’t stopped. Not even with Andy’s absence, the way his eyes only occasionally drifted to the blue tape still on his living room wall.. Or the regular irregularity of Aureline, who seemed to drift in and out of his town and his bed whenever the mood overtook her. Though it’d been nearly a year since her smell of smoke and honey. 

The bar was unchanging. Faces blurred with only the occasional standout, usually whenever a skirmish demanded his attention. There was Johnny, who seemed to be the only other person he would consider a still point in the steady movement of the bar’s activities. The revolving door of staff and patrons, both human and other. 

A strange but comforting thing. 

Like now, the incessant clang of parts ringing in the background, and the soft grunts slipping from his lips as deft fingers worked to install a new windshield. The driver claimed they’d hit a deer and it was more than possible. But also very possible, in this town, that it was something else entirely. The woods were like that. The body of his Mustang was still nothing more than a shell, but he’d managed to get the rusted pieces off and replaced. Like Murphy said, it wasn’t easy work. Or fast work. But it was work he was willing to do. Liked to do. It pushed time forward in a way that Gunnar had come to appreciate. Something to look forward to.

He was so used to losing time, slipping away from him wrapped in those ugly, shivering hazes that years had passed before he realized it. 

Weird. How it all felt like living.

[mtnpathfinder]

Junk yard art in Colorado