post apocalypse parade

wake up, sort of. worry about money, payments missed, but not mine. back to bed, let's try this again.

let's drink wine and make matching shirts. let's coordinate colours. lets meet up with some friends. j behind starbucks. lee's palace. cherry bomb.

the dj's were good, the crowd eventually arrived and fun was definitely had. the weekend looked very promising. let's celebrate being us (and not them?).

then came another j behind starbucks, are we trying to make a political statement? no. let's get stuck in a half-broken shopping cart and take pictures. hilarity ensues. head to get food with a shoddily drawn map. it tastes like treasure. let's listen to some dbag trying to sound smart and tops it off with an ill-placed use of "postmodernism". head home, not mine though.

wake up. flood. fuck. let's try this again.

wake up. get ready and go to the dyke march. they're cheering for us. happy. excited. i'm speechless.

run into everyone I know. j on private property. ICE CREAM. delicious delicious ice cream and cake. hotel room. uh huh her concert. strive to catch a glimpse, just a glimpse. stand in line for Snatch. cheese and crackers, how practical. get in to wait some more. hurry up and wait? silence.

head home, wallet lost. fuck. sleep.

wake up, figure it out, and eat an overly priced buffet. miss the parade. it's looks like we survived an apocalypse. everything is less illuminated, but we soak up the aftermath as best we can. let's meet up and burn one. wander and then home.

hbox the car? why not. to the beaver, wait in line. the woman is a spectacle, as she talks to us about the evils of the white man. she also apparently slept with alexander the great. i wonder how close genius and insanity are. drink inside. head to the rooftop.

the four of us, on a roof top with parts of the city in a view i have never seen. i reclaim my perspective.