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.