south of market

so. dylans playing drums with tom. im around somewhere waiting. i cant find the source of the music playing but its a case between a Spanish soap opera and two blokes jamming.

b1s rolling a joint. to smoke with shamin.

im here to her left and now dylans to my right and hes talking about

"the new generation of brakes"

he left, they left. i am alone.

i spent my morning at stacks. i ordered a breakfast sandwich. it had bacon, i hate bacon, so i gave that part away. no one in the world wanted the left over omelet, so its melting in the fridge.

this house is infested with pops. i feel like hes sitting on the couch with a coke in his hand rubbing his belly watching the simposons, or kim possible, or something pointless. im running up the stairs, or even im sitting here waiting for him to yell, "get off that thing" so i get off, and i spend the moment with him, both of us bored as hell. exercising our imagination brainstorming ideas, creating the next best book, movie, tv show, website etc.

well really the truth is when i smell cigarette smoke. i think of this, and my old neighbor tom.