moh-no...

so last week i'm in portland, i'm taking a little quiet time to think.


molasses

one night, kiki calls:
"hi. i'm on the way home from work, and your truck just died on the highway."
it's the clutch. the clutch is dead. this truck doesn't really deserve to have another six hundred smackers poured into her bottomless gullet, but it's fucking murder to lose our wheels. suck 1.

the next night, (still in portland) i get home from the coffee shop and open up my laptop to show kendra and igor the design work i did for them that afternoon, and all we see on the screen is eight-bit pastel vomit, like if your atari ate a bunch of blueberries and raspberries and strawberries and threw up all over the inside of its molecular cage. toast. as they say, my WHOLE LIFE is on this thing. suck 2.

there are a number of shitty occurences that make decent candidates for Third Shoe, but i will not take it onto myself to play kingmaker to any of them.

pray for me.