Poor lady lovely was tucked into our rucksack around nine. Nothing doing for me, no sir! I'm all avant garde & shit, all wait, what is the word-- art deco. That is what I meant. So yeah-- I came home, picked up a major score from David, headed to the wine shop, was woo'd (woo'ed?) into a bottle by a tasting-- I'm suggestible! Home for some Angel & here we are. I've had a few, but a burrito enough to soak up most of them. Come on now! Rice paper for walls! Lets punch right through them. I don't mean to have a double life. Trust me, I'm as disconcerted as anyone-- somehow I barely sin anymore? Not that I ever could, for real. Not having guilt, or being not-a-person & all. Still, I'm married, lack problems, winning at winning, etc. Use my imagination most of the time-- mostly talk about that. Your world is fabrication & I'm doing fine at that; my world is fabrication & I'm doing fine at that. Any other world I've got a fist raised to smash a plate glass window. Seriously-- medically. So here we are. Again, sorry to be so boring, but I'm so freaking awesome? I can't complain. This isn't a decade ago where I could cry on & on in one liners. I'm the boss of this train wreck, & I say it is an airport!