post-theatre cocktails and treats, one of the waiters was persuaded to eat ice cream with us.
more ice cream, this time made by a three foot seven man who toils away on the top floor of this giant milk pail. waking up early, drinking bailey's, and making ice cream. that's how he does it, three hundred and twenty five days out of the plutonian year.
breakfast (pancakes, eggs, and syrup) with cindy and tara.
"the timeless art of sedution"
the gray foxes were frolicking over all of the bread. red-staurant.
i may or may not have been in last place in this race. i actually do not think that i was, but it certainly did not go well. i will blame poor performance on the fact that i was pre-occupied with looking good for the camera, as my friend bryce was shooting away throughout the race. "oh, there's bryce at the sand pit...okay, look euro look euro, pretend you're not working hard...don't breathe through your mouth. wipe the vomit off your lower lip."
:) - insert name (verb) here.
eric moore - "...i strive to one day be a dave towle "rider of the apocalypse"."
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