Thursday, January 25, 2007

Oh man, Seattle, you are all up in my dance space. Every time I turn around, there you are, trying to climb into my shopping cart and hide underneath the apples. Doesn't seem to matter that I've already looked at you sternly, that my shopping cart is already filled with things I put there myself.

We can hang out and listen to records, Seattle, but you are not coming home with me.

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