It is the only chapter I remember well from two of many memorable books and texts I read as a student at San Jose State University: The Tao of Poo and The Tao of Piglet. Deep reading indeed for a young GI Bill-funded university student. Cutting to the chase, a wise monk was watched by townsfolk as he walked home one evening from his daily meditations. The community had been flustered for weeks by a vicious donkey who kicked at anyone trying to walk down a well-traveled street where the donkey held sway in essence disturbing commerce and peace of mind. No one could pass without a rib-breaking trounce of his sharp hooves. At their wit´s end the local town leaders watched as the monk approached the fateful road he usually traveled to see how he handled the situation. Only to watch as the monk walked past the donkey-ruled street and moved over to the adjoining one, bypassing the donkey, to continue his untroubled walk home. I will be moving from my apartment to another, three blocks away from my metaphorical jackass, the nationwide El Compadre chain of cheap merchandise to the masses, braying their incessant, continuous drivel exploiting poorly-paid pitchmen and loud music to entice the ignorant with amplified speakers to come into the store and spend their money, drowning a mixed small business and residential community neighborhood with unadulterated, loud, continuous noise every weekend right across the street from my bedroom window; worse on holidays. This nightmare began two years ago. I, as a renter, am able to bypass the braying ass. The residents who own homes and small businesses have to live with it, unless they band together to force the alcaldía to enforce nationwide anti-noise laws currently on the books as I constantly suggested. It´s really none of my business anymore; I´ll be at peace in my new home on September 16th, Mexican Independence Day. AMF. Ciao.