If I had a whipper I'd learn how to snap it
With no English exam today, I skipped. Dozed to the late hour of nine. I think nine a.m. is a good hour to wake up, when I need to catch up on sleep: there's room for all the REM-rebound, and at nine a.m. the sun's still too weak (in my westward-facing windows) to have evaporated the morning.
I registered to vote, and now have to pay closer attention to the twenty-two mayoral candidates. (Twenty-one. Butler can say she's Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King combined all she wants, but hey, neither of them was ever mayor.) And I went to the bank and explained that my cards weren't stolen; I just can't ever type my PIN right.
Dad let me take his bike for the day, and I finished my book in a pavilion on the Mississippi, then drowsed by the water in Audobon Park. Tonight my lips were spicy from my first bag of crawfish this season, so I ended up reading Kon-Tiki at Z'Otz (looking back, that's a non-sequitor, but I'd ostensibly gone to get a hot drink). Old friends showed up and talked about tribal techno, and I had a conversation with a Tulane student about psychology and social communication before we sat down to a round of Japanese board games.
I watched robots fight in the afternoon sun. They had primitive steering, and sometimes spent rounds drilling into plywood walls, unable to twist away. The radio is cranking out lazy skat, and a deep, rich woman is moaning Jazz, Jazz, be-bop-be-da-ba doo Jazz! Oh!
Oh!
I registered to vote, and now have to pay closer attention to the twenty-two mayoral candidates. (Twenty-one. Butler can say she's Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King combined all she wants, but hey, neither of them was ever mayor.) And I went to the bank and explained that my cards weren't stolen; I just can't ever type my PIN right.
Dad let me take his bike for the day, and I finished my book in a pavilion on the Mississippi, then drowsed by the water in Audobon Park. Tonight my lips were spicy from my first bag of crawfish this season, so I ended up reading Kon-Tiki at Z'Otz (looking back, that's a non-sequitor, but I'd ostensibly gone to get a hot drink). Old friends showed up and talked about tribal techno, and I had a conversation with a Tulane student about psychology and social communication before we sat down to a round of Japanese board games.
I watched robots fight in the afternoon sun. They had primitive steering, and sometimes spent rounds drilling into plywood walls, unable to twist away. The radio is cranking out lazy skat, and a deep, rich woman is moaning Jazz, Jazz, be-bop-be-da-ba doo Jazz! Oh!
Oh!