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This is Joey's phone. Next time you get pulled over for speeding and the officer asks you how fast you were going, pull your sunglasses to the tip of your nose, equip your best Cockney accent, and say, "That really depends... how fast were YOU going?" Chances are he'll freak the fuck out and just run back to his car, arms flailing and just cry in the seat and wave his cars at passing traffic. Leave a message.
**
Music is going to make you feel better. I promise. If you have a rash or a swollen prostate or whatever, it's like a handful of pills the doctor puts in your roast beef sandwich when you're not looking.
Moving to a house soon. Maybe sometime in May. Maybe sooner, probably later. I'd say May or June. I'll be living with my two favorite people in the entire world. Two people who I'd donate organs to or sponge bathe them if they were incapacitated. I would split atoms or drink from a dirty glass filled with day-old coffee for these two people.
I bought two collections of Raymond Carver stories last week while I was on a break at work. I walked over to the Boarders on Fourth Street and rummaged. I hate they way their collection is organized. Poetry and fiction are intertwined. Poets and fiction writers were living all over each other. Their words were touching and it was just impossible to make decisions. Well, until I saw Raymond Carver's cache. When I get paid on Friday, Annie Proulx will make a few charitable donations to my bookshelf.
Oh no. I was just wowed with sleepiness and I have work in an hour and a half. Shittttt.
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