LIKE REGULAR PEOPLE, LEIGH AND I WOKE UP, FEELING WELL-RESTED: We got up and headed over to Vancouver, across the river. Couple estate sales to check out. Leigh had this to say about it, “That shit was picked over.” Indeed it was. The woman speaks the truth. But shit, if anything, it was just nice to be out and about, away from the cutthroat world of “sitting on my big MIdwestern butt in front of a couple flat screens making shit.”

We saved that stuff for later in the day, getting a jump on a bunch of riff raff.

It’s no secret. We work on the weekends. Some of the best times to get shit done. Our little delusional tactic.

What you are seeing above is one of the treasures I dug up in a basement. “Shav’r cord.” Man, dig on that little lightning bolt apostrophe! That little thing…that little form…that’s the kind of shit that makes me want to do this shit for the rest of my life. Be it if I make it to 38, or 138. I’m hoping for a large, large number, you dicks.