carry out all of what
was yours (and yours
alone), throw it upon
the sidewalk with a
sign marked “FREE.”
I should get a vacation
soon. “Get,” I wonder?
I’m at a table with a
Pontiac parked next to
it and a bunch of men
who swear, each and all.
“How could he possibly
do this?” I will, I promise.
Some remnant of yester-
day’s Chronicle: Reese
Witherspoon and Philip
Seymour Hoffman the
apparent shoo-ins. Not
that fun. Am I the only
one here more palatable
when dead? I was talking
to Stephanie about how
pretty I am. “Pretty
much,” she must have
mumbled from behind
a rose-colored napkin.
It is 8:00pm, as Sepia
the Cat teaches us to
call where we are sit-
ting Green Couch #2.
