Last night consisted of, but certainly was not limited to:
- Going to two shows; The Tallest Man on Earth and Mi Ami/Double Dagger.
- Getting into a fist fight in front of a bar called The Knockout Room. Irony. Discuss.
- Not winning the fight, but not losing. Considered a win when all body parts are still fully functioning.
- Telling a girl from Boston that I was from Ireland in order to measure the believability of my new Irish accent/alter ego.
- The consumption of three beef empanadas.
- Breaking into a coffee shop after hours to watch an indie film about Werner Herzog eating his own shoe.
- Realizing that I settled for some p-r-e-t-t-y lame parrot-like friends/other-types-of-relationships-that-aren't-defined-as-friends in Boston.
- Evading the early morning bagel man by laying completely still.
I want to write about this day. Beginning to end. When I wake up from my nap, hopefully I'll attain enough knowledge to depict the reasons for my actions in a clear manner. What I truly mean is this; I hope that I don't rise with the moon accompanied by a brain-splitting hangover.
Wish me luck.
