I am relaxed. I’ve been reading Whitman’s Specimen Days, which, is completely interesting. It can be dry at times, but it’s almost like reading a history book, or perhaps a diary written by Walt himself. It’s simply personal, and honest.

I am listening to my mother and father talk in the other room. I can hear Wayne’s collar clank against itself as he supervises the conversation. Someday, I will miss this.

I bought a shirt a week ago—the proceeds go to the oil spill clean-up fund. On the front of the shirt, a pelican carries a stick in the shape of the gulf coast. I regret buying the shirt. It’s one half of a Rorschach blot. Somehow I missed it.

“Something smells suspiciously like ribs” my mom says. She’s right. Although my dad isn’t the best rib magician out there, they’re still ribs. All this makes me hungry.

I’m going to go snack. See you.


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