May 22, 2017:

Dalai Lama incognito, shaved head, sleeveless t-shirt, shades. "Oh great!", he says, into his cell phone, "we can ship it straight to Montreal." His Holiness the international business titan.

Giant yellow duck over the bar. I hadn't noticed until my friend LOL'd.

Praying, praying, praying, praying that 11B is empty.

May 21, 2017:

That moment in the airport when your former band echoes from speakers in the ceiling.

May 20, 2017:

Elderly couple at the far end of my table. Talking about pigeons. They have Deep South accents. Not sure how I feel about this.

Earlier my boss-slash-best-male-friend took me out and got me hammered. Five pints on empty stomach. It's his thing. Apologies in advance for typos.

I want to be around people but there are too many voices. Not so much quantity as proximity. The Deep South accents are intrusive. That and uninteresting talk of pigeons. This could be a vision of Hell, if we think about it too closely. Let's not.

Lindsay the pretty bar tender asks how I'm doing. I'm fine, babydawg. I'm really just fine.