Originally written Thursday, October 7th:
I'm in a van in da missus' driveway.
I don't know where she is.
But that's where I am.
She might be inside her house, actually.
I went to Placentia (Placenta) for the first time in my life just the other day.
Do me a favour for a second while you read this.
Put your hands in front of you, parallel to your chests (luscious as they are).
Palms down.
Now, touch the tip of your middle finger to the tip of your other middle finger.
Now raise your hands at the tips away from one another.
It was my understanding that Placenta had a bridge that did that.
But it does not.
Hold one hand in front of your chests again.
Parallel.
Now raise your hand up towards your face.
They have a bridge that does that instead.
Like a hotel elevator used to move bins of garbage.
Which is far less romantic.
A little less Thomas the Tank Engine and a little more Placenta.
Turpin and I went to a gas station to get beer.
But they only had various motor oils available to drink.
One of the local savages directed me, around Doritos, to a corner store.
Across the bridge.
She stayed in the van, churlish and awful, while I went inside.
She soon noticed from the passenger seat that everyone in the store was staring at me.
This is because the first half-case I removed from the cooler was missing a bottom.
So all of the bottles fell onto the floor, smashing into bits.
Then I had beer on my pants.
I immediately thought to myself: 'Aww, come on! I just got here!'
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