Monday, August 27, 2001

you call this a diary entry?

I feel like a crotchety old man. Every five minutes I say something like, "You call this hot?" or "You call this a rainstorm?" or "You call this a torn-up road?" or "You call this a ghetto?"

Never thought I'd miss New Orleans. I guess it goes to show that Home is whatever the h*ll you're used to.

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