jayden

Today as I was walking to Powell's on Burnside, some weird creepy man asked me if I was "working". I'm pretty sure he thought I was prostitute, though I don't think I was giving out any hooker-like vibes and I was dressed like a slob. Perhaps the fresh outbreak of acne on my nose and the glazed, apathetic look on my face gave him the impression that I had a lucrative crack habit that needed support. *shrug*

I also bought a Teflon spatula. It rules.