chips. truro. now.

12.05.04 3AM.

I see details in red lights and wet streets.

Just got home. It’s been a long week of work and I was starting to feel a little burnt. Taking a few days off to decompress and work on some music. I’m not going back until next Thursday. The weekend starts NOW.

I’m so stoked, all I want to do right now is drive to Truro to buy a bag of salt ‘n’ pepper potato chips. Have you had those? They’re awesome. Truro? Why not.

Unfortunately, I can’t do that. Newly licensed drivers like me have to have an experienced driver in the passenger seat between midnight and 5am. I HATE THAT.

Why are you on the Intertron at 3 o’clock on saturday night? You’re bored. Why are you reading swordfight dot org? Because you’re interested in my life. Which means you probably know me. Which means you possibly live in North End Halifax.

My email program is open. Email me right now. We are going to Truro. You and me. I don’t care if you’re in your pyjamas, I don’t care if you’re stinking drunk, I don’t care if you hate my guts. Sit in my car while I drive down the highway. I have Sinatra’s greatest hits ON CASSETTE.

If no one emails me by 3:45am, I’m just going to pedal around on my bike and take some pictures. I see details.

Or more likely, I’ll just delete this post and go to bed, chipless and heartbroken.

4 thoughts on “chips. truro. now.

  1. Boo… aright, I’m just going to have to buy my chips at the Robie St. Irving tonight.

    I was just reading the news:

    Odds that a newborn child will have Down’s syndrome: one in a thousand.

    Odds that a mother will develop post-partum psychosis, a disorder which could lead a mother to stab her husband and child to death and then kill herself: one in a thousand.

    Wear a rubber, kids.

  2. [Dear lady: Your email arrived at 4:15am. By then I’d already wandered away from the iBook.

    I didn’t go to the Irving, though. I found some Tostitos in the kitchen and ate those instead.]

  3. Baby quote of the day:

    “Experiments done by the US airforce in the 60’s (see!) showed that the average baby can withstand 700 cubic pounds of force. That’s like being fired from a cannon into another cannon that was fired from an even larger cannon and is in turn firing a robot!”

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