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Post scimble-scambling with Rita; just like the symbiotic crocodile/bird relationship, she helps keep my molars clean and I eat her excellently prepared meals.
At the under-the-sea Tip Top party for London Linda's arrival, Jamie told my future with streamer tape.
Chess on Sullivan with the elusive Josh.
One moment you're contemplating all the ways this little nightmare will afford you the city's fortunes...
...and the next moment hot-pink spray paint quells your government aided dream. 
These lobsters speak Cantonese.
Moments like this remind me of my papa.
Finding your friend shaking a tail-feather on an abandoned underground dance floor is cause for more celebration. Also the night that MJ cashed in his ticket.
Of course the evening faded into a pre-school morning. I love the building as canvas.
And the body.
Blonde Redhead at Prospect Park was just magical; lightning without rain and dancing against the stage = true gold.
Presently I find myself in Northern California typing away until the family crawls out of their slumber caves. A large decrepit white cat with a tumour under her tongue just sat next to the monitor, meowed, then shook her head until she lambasted me with a snail-trail of drool. I think I'll have a banana chip now (why is it that only one out of every five banana chips are the good ones? the thin crispy ones that don't break your jaw?). Also, the coffee pot is broken and there isn't a cup to be found within walking distance. Suburban city layout, your complete disinterest in my scorn elicits applause.
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