People,

So last week iMadden offered us his old couch because he and his lovely wife were getting a new one. We (the Somerville rock house), being cheap and lazy and possessing a NASTY mice infested couch, agreed.

And so the deed was done and we took delivery of a simply charming pale yellow pillowy masterpiece. Unfortunately, it just wouldn't fit through the door. Dag.

We debated cutting the legs off or otherwise mangling the couch in order to force it into our living room, but in the end opted to put it out on the curb. We figured that maybe someone could use it.

Boy were we right.

The rock house is an area of Somerville I would kindly classify as "kinda scummy". We live a stone's throw from an old abandoned paper mill which is now a fully non-abandoned hobo hangout.

And so a couple industrious bums took the couch that iMadden and his aforementioned lovely wife probably spent hours picking out, put it out by the old railroad tracks where they have their campfires and now they have sex and shoot drugs on it. This morning it was occupied by a really scary disheveled drunk guy.

Somehow, somewhere, Barry and Eliott are shedding a tear.