(An) Alternate Route to Vulcan St.

So where were you when the temps broke 40 this winter?

Me, I was soaking up the negativity at 1369. Or maybe I was apartment hunting with Meg. I don't quite remember. I'll tell you one thing I do remember, and it was chatting with hot kelly on a porch in brighton. I'll tell you one other thing, and that's this



Somewhere in the middle there I was about eight beers up and wondering how I'd get home. Somewhere in there I was closing the store. Somewhere in there was a linear narrative. I'm trying to write a short story about a television obsessed with an author who is obsessed with television. Because It has become a common thing, since the latter half of the last bit of the twentieth for people to be obsessed with television. WIth television reality and reality becoming tv. Etc. Etc. Tell me you get what I'm saying. I don't want to explain further, because I have to work soon and probably blow my nose. But every time you close your eyes:



Maybe I'll write a love letter to Comets on Fire. They're in australia though.

This entire entry could have been put to better uses.