A bar is a wonderful place to do midday homework. Kind old biker will buy you beer, provided you listen to their gold-mining escapades. In the real, put-your-hands-in-the-dirt sense of the term.

And of coure, your paper is on the life of surviving in the two short stories you are comparing, and there you are, surviving after of work, wherefore you were 20 minutes late due to the fact that you schlepped out of bed at the precise minute you were supposed to be there.

So there you are, trying advidly not to write this paper in the 2nd person. You're an actor though, you're a theatre friggin' person, and it's not easy to write a paper that isn't a monoulouge. Especially in the middle of a couple pints of Killians and the worlds most forlorn BLT.

And then a girl calls you, and you let her eat up a few of your daytime minutes cause she's pretty sexy. And then you drunkenly get on your bike and you head for home, not that you've got any idea what you're going to do there other than wait and wait, maybe play tetris, maybe type a paragraph or two. Maybe have another beer, maybe try your damndest to sober up.

And you press shuffle on your mp3 player and you hear crosby stills and nash. And it was raining when you bike home, and you laughed into the rain as you passed the place where the purple morning glories grow and sang A Stor Mo Chroi at the top of your lungs

And you love your life, ocassionally, on days like these, in minutes like these. You abso-fucking-lutely love your bloody life.

<<agé chose>>

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