May 31 Sa 1:15 PM

Thing and his friend from Fresno and I just returned from the Hollywood Hills Cafe. Last night we took a cab up to Dublin Whiskey Bar on Sunset. I was burning, though, and my pool game sucked, so I told the guys I was leaving. "I just don't have it," I said pointing to my head. I walked east on Sunset to Gardner. I rang Shirelle's bell, but she wasn't there. I pissed between a couple of trees with two little dogs nipping at my heels. I walked down Santa Monica and spotted Shirelle and Kristina coming out of the Formosa. They gave me a ride back home, and we passed a joint around, and they left, and I wrote some and read some more Cormac McCarthy and went to bed.

The Dodgers are playing at St. Louis on Fox. The guys are reading the newspaper. Mac called and said he was coming over. Hide the silverware. We were gone an hour or so , though, and we might have missed him.

Dick Trickle drives race cars.

There's nothing to write about.

Julie Gibson left E-mail about a writer's group tonight at seven. I wrote back half joking about using up prime drinking hours. I haven't heard back. My feet could use a bath. My writing embarrasses me. There was a tarantula, a big hairy brown spider the size of my hand, downstairs reading the mail.

What the hell else?

Sweated some driving to the hoop in the backyard. Mac called about driving to the marina to a BBQ at some girl's house. Actually, I know the girl, beautiful redhead, Keri something or other, but I resent her because she's out of my league, or rather, I'm not in her league.

The first game of the Stanley Cup Finals is about to start. We're all afraid to drive. Shirelle went to the beach with her friends. What to eat? Sh'elle just called looking for a ride to get her car in Pasadena. I said I'd do it tomorrow, but that wasn't good enough.