‘Stated income’ loans: Just a way to house homeless!

Subprime: When even the homeless could get a home loan!

Guess who’s coming to dinner! and for aperitifs!

A couple of alert readers noticed that three upscale Midtown restaurants were listed in Wine Spectator magazine’s annual dining guide last August. Durant’s even got recognition for its “inexpensive wine pricing,” while it, The Compass and Cheuvront Wine & Cheese all received the list’s one-wine-glass “Award of Excellence” rating (the lowest rating in the list: two glasses indicates the “Best of Award of Excellence” and three signifies the “Grand Award”).
After noting the “inexpensive” designation, Snatch and Scriff, Midtown’s most carefree and cultivated homeless couple, headed over to Durant’s, where they’ve regularly been enjoying their own special Happy Hour ever since. “They don’t have Thunderbird or Mad Dog, but we make do,” said Snatch. “I’m not drinking any fucking Merlot!” yelled Scriff, then noticing Snatch furiously scratching an instant lottery ticket to the usual disappointing outcome. “Hey, clean that gunk out of yer fingernails,” admonished Scriff. “You know we got to keep up appearances to sit at that nice bar we go to now.” “Yeah, well, you got potatoes growing out yer ears, so mind yer own bizness,” replied the lady. “Yeah, well, my hair covers ’em up, but yer fingernails show through where you wear those mittens with no fingers!” Scriff said.
“Yeah, anyway, we can usually make enough panhandling at the Arco over at 7th and Thomas to drink at Durant’s a whole evening,” he went on. “Although, they close too damn early; this whole town shuts down at like, 8! We started to check out that Cheuvront place, but we woulda had to roll a few junkies on top of our other earnings to drink there reglar. Plus, it looked like the Sheriff’s guys had stopped in there while transporting inmates on the light rail, so then we kinda didn’t feel that welcome. Plus, I did take a sip of some red wine and burned my tongue. Dude needs to keep it at cellar tempature, you know you can’t serve that good stuff at this city’s ambent heat!”
“So yeah, we headed up round the corner a bit to have some grub over at that My Florist eatery,” chimed in Snatch. “Did you know, it’s vertically integrated with that bread place next door?”
“How can it be vertical if it’s next door, my haggy honey?” interjected Scriff. “But yeah, everything on the menu is carbs, so we’re not going back. Snatch has to watch her figure; her boobs are already down to her ubiquitous. You know, her nagel.”
“It’s my bellybuppin, you boob, and you need a mansiere your own self,” Snatch retorted. “But yeah, that menu: bread this, bread that. They had a bread samwich--bread with bread in the middle I mean! They had a crouton omelet, bread pudding, pumpernickel soup. They had bread dip served in a bread bowl with toast points, French toast stuffed with bread crumbs.”
“Yeah, they had a lot of bread stuff,” Scriff agreed. “So, we also decided to check out that Compass place at the top of the Hyatt, but you know, it turns, and Snatch lost her cookies, so we hadda leave.”
“Bread cookies,” mumbled Snatch. “So, they was mostly able to sweep it up, chunks.”
“So, yeah, I’m kinda proud to be homeless where we got those three fine bars; that list was of dozens of places all around the state,” Scriff said, adding wistfully, “Maybe someday we can get a car and check ’em all out. I wanna get one of them Chevy Volts, when they come out—well, they were supposed to come out this year, now it’s next. So maybe when they really do, we’ll be able to get one.”
“Yeah, my stinky sweetie, when my AIG stock ever gets out of the dumper, we can,” Snatch soothed him. “But we can’t get a Volt, we got no place to plug it in! Ahh, too bad your investment guy’s feeder fund was invested with that Madoff a-hole.”
“Yeah, that sucked,” agreed Scriff dolefully. Then he perked up as they rounded the corner at 3rd Street and Monte Vista and noticed their former home, in the posh Los Olivos Historic District. “New owners seem to be takin pretty good care of it,” he said. “Course they are! Banks don’t let that stuff, nice property, go downhill, you know,” Snatch agreed, shielding her head from a rare sprinkle of rain with her tattered copy of Town and Country.
—David Tell