rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

I’m going to try to be as succinct as I can for this first paragraph, because I’m exahusted, I feel pretty uninspired right now, and with that in mind I’m writing because I see an extended absence from this coming up. maybe a month. I’m working and cleaning the apartment for the rest of the weekend. then I’m driving back to Indiana. then Mar in Budapest. and then, well, I’m moving again, and moms don’t have the internet for the in-between times. I mean, fuck, mom doesn’t even own an answering machine. so it may be a while until I have an internet connection that I can abuse with this.
everything else tonight can be summed up as half-thoughts or bullshit. there’s not going to be any well-developed segues, no witty metaphors. just necessity. get ready.
so.

it’s 1:15 in the morning, and I’m switching between “SLC Punk!”and “Busty Cops 2,” both of which have their merits. the merits of “Busty Cops 2?” tits.
also, it should be pointed out, if there’s a “Busty Cops 2,” I’d imagine there’s a “Busty Cops: the beginning.” probably pretty heavy on the plot development. and that’s awesome.

but more important than the softcore porn I’m not really paying attention to; I took the job in Charlottesville. as Josh said today, “it’s the responsible decision.” true …
ohh, snap, the busty cops are taking off their shirts! sample dialogue:
busty cop #1: were you on the train that was robbed?
busty witness: yeah. but I can’t see very well. but I think she was hot and I would have done her.
busty cop #2: so you don’t remember what she looked like?
busty witness (leans over and looks at huge busts on the busty cops): I’m not sure. let’s go over to that tree. maybe it will jog my memory.
busty cop #1: I got something that will jog her memory …
and, end scene.

yeah, so I took the Charlottesville job. you should’ve spoken sooner, Logan, god damn, man, take your time.
but anyhow, I’m much more confident about it now than I was last week. decision has been made. it’s done. no more debate. Spencer is already on the ball. put me in touch with his homeboy, who’s actually a girl, but that doesn’t matter. word, Spencer.

alright, what else.
Alisha gets here tomorrow.
her grandfather died last week, which tore her up, and she didn’t pass her math course, which is more-or-less exactly what happened to me last year. she gets here tomorrow, and she hasn’t graduated college, and I haven’t told her that I’m taking another job on the other side of the continent, while she wants to move to San Francisco to continue with the schooling and such. so she’ll be a volatile bundle of nerves for the next week. and we’ll be in a pickup for most of it. jesus. talk about bad timing.
I feel fucking awful for her. I mean, what do you tell someone that basically gets their life put on hold for the immediate future? chin up? cause it didn’t work for me. I was a ball of rage for about a week and a half. all that I said about riding her ass if she didn’t pass? unnecessary. she knows. what’s the point of saying “I warned you” anyway? damage is done. I’d be a pretty low asshole to pile on at this point.

and, I got me some new glasses. Kenneth fucking Coles, man. I look slick. word.