Sunday, May 6, 2007

Hoarse

Weeks of two hours of sleep a night, eating like shit, whiskey, and cigarettes has finally caught up with me. I am sick.

I'm utilizing my raspy voice to play eight minute long Bob Dylan songs with no chorus and no bridge loudly out my window. My muscles ache, but at least I got a good night's sleep last night.


Just when I thought I'd used up all the great plots in my life, then came a Boston balcony.

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