I went to a former cornfield to stalk janitors in an office complex. There was a big building where beefy exjocks edit film of nfl football. I went to the Borders across the street and read magazines. I bought the book of Davy Rothbart short stories and they're so fucking Michigan I can't stand it. I sit in the living room of my comfy home I bought a year ago. I put on the scratchiest old country records and read in the easy chair. I eat a turkey chop and some collard greens and a garden fresh tomato. I'm wheezing from my allergies. My bar is closed in mourning, but I don't want to go out anyways.
