Tuesday evening. I’ve already been

Tuesday evening. I’ve already been asleep and quite comfortable with my cat sleeping on my stomach but we were awakened by my roommate shouting obscenities at the television in the basement rumpus room. Got up and left the house to slice up wet streets on my bicycle. There’s a glow over Dartmouth and spring is empty.

In a few minutes I’m going over to Hell’s Kitchen to perform a Spinoza set, I’ve decided. Rock never sleeps in the city of Halifax. Tomorrow night I’ll be back there again, playing entirely different music as the 9Volt Sound System in the midnight hour. Maybe the rain will cease and it will be hot and the dancefloor will be full of hot, sweaty women. Our motto: “If you can’t get laid at a 9Volt show, you’ve got no business owning a dick.”

Maybe this cursed rain will cease. I was almost blown out to sea on my way to work at the studio today. Gritted my teeth and put in a long day of work.

On Thursday night in what is becoming a familiar routine I get off work in Hell’s Kitchen and race down to the Khyber Club, this time to play some abstract ambient electro mood music. No one is getting laid on Thursday night.

I’ve been asked out on a date tomorrow evening. This, despite doing my best not to cause any romantic misconceptions. A date with a beautiful woman… I pledge to be on my worst behaviour.