n'est pas

Last night I dreamed about midwest scientologist celebrities, rehab sunday school and tunneling through antique repair shops and overgrown topiary. I was leaving town when I woke up, upset by the overcast nothing of all roads leading out of town and an impending plague of undersaturation. Death by redundency and sentimentality, it's a slow choke either way.
In real life where I still squint under the darkest lenses, I do things like follow a jog with a cigarette, pair a glam rock movie with a grilled shrimp burrito and spend the better portion of the evening at anthropologie trying to decide whether sweater a or sweater b is my new favorite sweater.
Seattle in four days, four long long days.