Anyway,

I'm a little scattered. I was at Revolver till five thirty. Taxi ride back was amazing. The city looked perfect and I remembered why I like getting up early and ... I should do that more often.

Got to hang out with our new friend Jake, whom I see everywhere these days. He told some very bad jokes and talked about D*ltra Goodr*m a good deal. Funny boy.

So I woke with a start. I picked up my phone and held it and tried to think of a message to write and couldn't. Empty room, dark sheets, too much light, sweaty, need shower, grumbling stomach- that lump in my throat that'd been there all night- still around bugging me.

The thought kept running through my head that I'd have to make a run for it. Something along the lines of "YOU ARE GOING TO GET FUCKED UP AND FUCKED OVER SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS SITCH."

I then had a terrbile conversation with someone that went like this:

"YOU ARE GOING TO GET FUCKED UP AND FUCKED OVER SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS SITCH."

"I'll be okay."

"No I don't think you will be this is why..... (they elaborated for a long time and told many scary fucked up stories.)

"I'll be okay."

Going through the park, whilst being followed by a strange old man and looking at people getting married under the hot almost midday sun (thought- you dumb fucks who wants to squint at your lover when taking those vows and wearing a tight white glaring dress?) I sent a text message that didn't necessarily go into all this You'll Get Fucked Up business but did hint at it.

Somewhere in here today is a metaphor about meat at barbeques..

I just can't quite fit it in.