Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Last night I found myself penned into a booth by a group of the douchiest of douchebags, who kept going to the bathroom in a group like sixteen year old girls. Only to do coke instead of to fix their lipgloss and talk about boys. I'm not sure where they came from because they certainly weren't invited, and they were all wearing baseball caps. After we escaped I sort of hoped they'd all be wiped out in a freak napalming incident, but no such luck.

My second and last beginning sewing class was tonight. The next one is learning how to make skirts, next month, and until then there's still work to be done on my pants. It's too bad that this project is less interesting and full of bloodshed than the ship in a bottle, but I suppose that's appropriate--I'm not attempting to recover from a broken heart, I'm just learning how to make some clothes.

I was thinking about that tonight, being blown home along the same blocks that I always walk. Near my apartment I ran into a nice man with a nice dog that I first ran into before the ship in a bottle was thought of. Everything seems to go in very, very small circles.

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