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When I got home, I invented this drink. It’s got grapefruit soda in it from Wholefoods and some Cap’n Morgan. If I had to come up with a name off the top of my head, I’d call it a tropical depression. Yeah, not so good.
Also, no sandwich today. Realized I had no money or plastic or anything, and didn’t have the nerve to ask the guys at Wallace Market if they could do me a solid and spot me a hoagie. Not sure if we’ve reached that level yet. I’m not exactly, you know, Cliff Clayvin around there or anything.
The sweetest thing about today though was that I got the distinct feeling the foreman at the Website Mill was gonna make me stay late, but right exactly at 5 o’clock, the power went out! A hundred cooling fans whirring down to nothing and then: silence. “Guess we can knock off then, eh?” That’s what he said! And I said “Yes!” because I’m in a business that deals solely in electricity and the transmission there of. Am I gonna write code out on my portable Underwood? No way. There’s a war on, sure, but from what I understand it’s going gangbusters, so I’ll spend my five to six failing as a bartender, thank you very much.
The drive home was treacherous though, what without the traffic lights. I had to go to yuppiemart to get cobbed corn for some kind of culinary catastrophe that Scott’s planning to fuck up later on. (Wait, if you fuck up a catastrophe, does that mean you succeed? Is that a double negative? Get back to me on that, but in any case, he’s gonna fail.) But I made it home, and it was a pretty sweet ride. Swerving happy in between lanes on the motorcycle whistling muzak with groceries stretching out of the bag bungeed to the sissy bar. I was a platonic example of bliss. The traffic lights may have been out, but the envy glowed bright and true in the eyes of the peds I careened past, just out of their reach, like a green light on a far off dock.