9 am. Gym clothes. Coffee. Email to manager inquiring about Playboy magazine censorship guidelines, so I can send off a story. Feed the dog a biscuit, let him out to piss and shit along the shore, then back inside for more coffee. Eat a banana. Stretch. Blast Slayer’s Reign In Blood and ponder another tattoo. Skip the shower, skip the shave. Check phone for messages. Reply to messages. Check on-line sales. Check bank account. Hunt for cheap liability auto insurance. Reject call from 617 area code trying to collect an overdue bill from two years ago. They call every day. Last time I called the kid a fucker, then vowed not to waste my anger on them. Internet porn session. Open file of the new book and read over last night’s work. Edit. Addition through subtraction, usually. Sunny outside. Planning workout and thinking about breakfast, thinking about the summer book tour, thinking about the road and the blue eyes of my dog running toward me at a desert rest stop. All the colors remain. Nothing need be lost to the years. Update blog.
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Great album. I was just listening to it a few hours ago myself.
That tour needs to make a stop in Long Beach.