The geese are back, and I am the Pigpen of gunsmoke aroma. My right hand looks like I grilled it. I need something bigger than whistling rockets.

My boss called in sick, yet several people have asked after her. They want to wish her a happy birthday. Any hooky guilt I've fostered is now orphaned.

I have emptied the humongous bag of marijuana I was drunkenly cajoled into purchasing last week. Thank fuck. My skull has become a fondue pot. Time to congeal.

Waitresses and gas station attendants are smiling at me and chatting me up - a welcome turn of events. I do not understand it, as I am no different now than I was for the past several years, and if anything, I've added flab and my haircut looks like an otter's rump. No, I still haven't had that haircut. The thick wad of money has remained stealthily concealed, and my demeanor has not changed since I gave up my virginity. Despite my puzzlement this makes me merry.

Speaking of women, I successfully broke it off with the birthday girl. It was quick and easy and painless, something I couldn't possibly have hoped for. I'll spare you the details, as they're tremendously mundane and universal.

There's a guy who always orders food that lives in a nearby apartment building. He's the only customer who meets me at the elevator on his floor, and he tips very well. He's a short bodybuilder guy, and he keeps inviting me to death metal concerts and AC/DC coverband gigs at various local blue-collar roadhouses. I always thank him without answering the invitations. He's barking up the wrong tree. He has nice teeth, and he likes to show them off. I always think of the Joker. I'll bet they're not his original teeth. Maybe he's selling those to the elderly on ebay.

I am feeling somewhat feverish. I am in desperate need of some black licorice and some black pepper jerky. I will leave work early today to procure these confections as well as some steel wool for the kitchen floor, which is encrusted with ancient garlic-heavy spaghetti sauce.
5:01 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm