We are such stuff as dreams are made on. - Shakespeare
Man, the sun on the body really feels especially nice right now, shortest days of the year and all.
I met a nice man. He drives the shittiest beloved car on the planet; of coarse, you would figure that the ones that don't need to drive the draw cars probably don't need to, we'll see... Plus, he's saving up to get me the Charger; already got 12 strings to string, pings to pong, life a long!
He is a wise Pisces, destined for more more multiples of comeback than this Cancer lady will ever know, but I suppose at the higher levels (if you believe all of this shit) it SHOULD get harder to get to Ethereal fully. Apparently... Hey! Who has my Linda Goodman Love Signs book?
So, chilly as hell. Everything sort of real and cool. Found a blues place that plays Wed-Fri form 4-7 WTF wit dat! Place packed, salads amazing, wingz i hear, yum. I might actually buy 3 bar stools from the place, shiny, pretty, classic, funny, good.
I go now listen too, what really? The sound of sunset? A jostiling of metal and fire warmmers and callbacks from Momma to home against the chill night fall. The lucky buzz of the start of a streetlamp. The bustle and bulk of souls in my mid-block life of Holiday. Sweet. Savory.
Ahhh, always amazed. A Mox out.
Big heart.
