I've been home from work all afternoon. I feigned a migraine, they don't question me. I was home by two.
All I could think of was dope, as the yanky chick opened her mobile telephone conversation with a squeal, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel! Giggle, giggle. Ohhhhh, it's soooooo narce to hear your voice, as she beat her feet on the opposite seat with glee. At which point I got up and changed seats on the tram.
Pet hate! I'd rather see people who talk (loudly, incessantly, enthusiastically) on mobile phones, on public transport, get hung in Singapore than drug dealers. At least drug dealers have a willing audience.
I'd had a hell of a week. I was over it, I had been planning this escape since Wednesday. Everything done for the week by midday. I still went to lunch. I didn't try to look sick.
It was a beautiful day, sun shining, cool breeze.
I took a tram instead of walking. Get me out of here, Scotty!
I should say, before someone picks me up on it, that Love of My Life and Taking Over the World, are based on internet jokes of a few years ago. But, as I've written the vast majority of both of them in their current form, under their current names, I claim them as mine, with that disclaimer. I've just fattened them up and sent them on their way. Go on add more, we'll write a cyber novel.
I'm on to my fifth joint. In four hours. I burnt my coffee pot dry, didn't hear it, didn't smell it. Fuck. Kind of doubled the price of the dope.
What do I care, it's the weekend.
I wonder if Manny will come over?
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