August 05, 2010|
Run into Kurt Cobain outside the club at the metal barricade as I always do. The longer I stand there with him, the more sad I become, and when I cry, he offers me a drink, as he always does. This one has mint, maybe rum.
I write one dairy entry on top of the other neglected one that was either unwritten or unpublished. It is difficult to write with the paint pens. The waitress is cleaning out from underneath me. One new or old entry is published. I don't know how to fit the other one in.
Earlier a school shooting that I started. I got off easy with a shot in someone's foot.