As I type, you really don't want to be in the situation I'm in. Just imagining the situation I'm in, let alone actually BEING in it is a time-waster, lemme tell you.
Christ, too many hours watching Lockup: RAW but I'm sure it really does something to my (still?) conscious mind.
Dig this: sitting at a fucking hotel desk drinking a pisswater beer laced with what, cognac? (Sorry, that particular brain cell has gone AWOL) and contemplating doing what I did yesterday -- namely, going through that asshole of the Universe, Chicago, then going to its nearest neighbor, NARITA, Tokyo
AGAIN TOMORROW.
There are things to be thankful for. The beer. The . . . okay, I guess it says "Four Roses Bourbon". Christ, THAT brain cell has just gone AWOL as well. I can barely see. But take heart; Ernest Hemingway could barely see for half his life yet hey, fuck, he's a legend!
And so am I. My dearest throng, bear with me in this very, very odd place in which I find myself . . .
I swear, I wouldn't wish this bourbon on my worst enemy.
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