The transition of two thousand and seven to eight was a pretty quiet one. 
Spent it with small cheers at Ivan's with the usual group of people with less than 10 small cups of wine and a shot. 
Am starting to get sick of hard liquor- it tasted unbelievably vile. Or maybe it's just Baileys. 
Not exactly my kind of poison.

I like the sky above his porch- ( Read more... )