My little brother just left. Silly boy left his car under the trees where the hellbirds sing, and now it's crusted over in guano. I even caught a drop on my sandal while I was saying goodnight and collecting a borrowed CD.
Drank: a couple pints o' brew, and a pot o' Joe.
Smoked: several pipefuls of the shit musicians burn
Discussed: the musical genius...
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My grandmother is fond of saying that I was born forty. I was an incredibly serious and quiet child, dispensing the Look of Death at will when someone told me I ought to smile.