3-14 F
I was crabby today. I am sorry. My guitar has lost some of the fluidity it had a week ago. Rosa's computer. What else? What else? What's up, you fuckin snivelin Hollywood sychophant?  Hit me. Hit me again. Stay.
Pretty well off Mad, Sven was, cuz the girl couldn't come. He rode off drunk down the street fast with his friend the scooter fixer, who fixed the brakes. The other guy cut in front of him. He was in a coma for five weeks. His head swelled beyond the size of a basketball. He was unrecognizable. The girl went to see him. She was pregnant by his friends. She had a little baby. He underestands. He was pretty bad.
"Your hand's been like that since birth, though, right?"
"Yeah," he answered.
I said, "Glen, you were a wild and crazy rebel-man weren't ya? Don't you need two hands to ride a scooter?"
"Yeah," he conceded, and shot himself in the head with a gun he made from what good fingers he has.