Root beer bottle tops.

Comet model unit.

Meat grinder parts.

Old laces.

JFK.

Only killed one bird, and still feel bad as fuck about it.

Little bears, in day-glo color splendor.

HEADED BACK UP THROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE: Leaving Brimfield was a bummer. Maja and Evan had a wedding at Stowe to attend and I tried hard to back out, but they insisted I come along. So I did, and sat on my big ass enjoying strong Wi-Fi, room service and a robust project list that never lets up on us for a second. Relentless.

I slept hard and snored like a ogre. I got up at 6:30 AM to take a piss, and the bathroom door was locked. I knocked gently and heard a hoarse, “Hold it in.” Turns out my snoring kept Evan up, and he had to sleep in the shitter. Ha. So like any proper survivalist, I found a Coke bottle, hid behind the curtain and delicately drained the main vein, filling up that plastic bottle with surgical precision. I’m not bragging or anything, but that little opening is tricky. Gatorade bottles are a little more forgiving. Anyhoo.

I laid back down to sleep, thinking about some twilight riser, out in the courtyard, and if they were to look up at our window that morning during my sad transaction, what a sight they’d have seen. Ah, the magic of Vermont!