patrickandthetunacoma
I'm tired after the yuppie feast. The Bateman moment of sitting in a fancy East Coast eatery, with my delicately balanced seared tuna steak on my well decorated plate. The Lemon Drop Martini, the Key Lime Pie. One sister serving, the other with raccoonfacesunburn, mother paying and stressing.
I'm tired of the wired years.
Tomorrow I head back, coast to coast again. Murder By Death will sing me across the air, no plane needed to swing my carcass back home. Say goodbye to the family, say goodbye to the cat, only to go home, sit down, sleep tight, wake up, and say goodbye . . . again.
Bad timing my friend.