11:13pm. friday night. matt's porch.
1 half empty miller high life
1 burning cigarette
0 company (except for)
1 oversized canine
francis vomited on the floor earlier. that's ok. it's what i'm here for. tomorrow holds the promise of little besides writing like crazy to meet self imposed page deadline and finishing watching barry lyndon. sunday will hopefully find me at a "swimming hole" in the national park with will. i write this in case i don't come back alive. you'll know where to start looking for my body.
the hooker should be here soon. if she looks like the last one i'm turning her away before
i pay. i wonder where matt's porn collection is???
resisting urge to phone friends from athens in the hopes they are as lame as i am. past efforts have not been successful, the net result of which is always more lameness.
so is jenny at the beach or not? very confused with all this coming and going. i'd fill a book with all the travel plans of others that i've forgotten, only, well, i can't remember them. perhaps she and the boys would like to come over to discuss avian flu.
actually, no, i'm not drunk.
1 more cigarette
where the hell's my lighter? in my pocket, along with four wadded dollar bills (one of which has the number 32 written in tiny print upon it's face. very curious, indeed.)
maybe i'll finish my book, "three men in a boat." damn - italics for a novel, not quotes. wtf is it supposed to be for movies?
oversized dog appears to be staring at something in the darkness just around the corner.
...you'll know where to start looking for my body.
if you find it,francis needs one purple scoop of food in the morning and one at night. if she spews, good luck finding any paper towels. I prefer the discreet "rub it in" method.
11:34pm - getting dive bombed by giant insects.
is francis eating a turd?