2-27-98 She, in Her Black and White Checkered Kitchen, Just Pulled Her Pants Down to Her Sneakers

2-27-98 F 1:00 PM Gavi Naranja. Feels like The One. She smiles brightly when she sees me. Sigh. We all know how these things turn out. Shirelle followed me out of the house barefoot this morning and screamed down the street that my letters were lies. I hustled back to hear her better, asked why she said so, what was I not doing. I was truly baffled. She said nothing, only that the my letters were lies. She went back in. Godamn, I said. I sat at a table with Gavi Naranja. She made my heart flutter. Howrad called last night. She wants to ski this weekend. Will accompany my mother and sister and I to the Getty next Saturday. The kids are watching "Pete's Dragon". Today is payday. Pete says to his dragon, "I don't know if you're good for me...or bad." I'm gonna drink and smoke when I get home. What else? Still achin' over the loss of that journal. Shrill made fried chicken wings and mashed potatoes with green onions and corn and salad, and I brought a bottle of red wine, and she and Christina and I sat in her bedroom and watched "Stand by Me". What else? 2-28-98 Sa 4:30 PM Mac asked if I had found my little book yet. I said no and he said, "You are going down." Howrad is supposed to call at 5:00, Shirelle at the same time. I think I have a deviated septum. Sphincter ringworm mucous. Yikes. "Hot Shots"--absurd comedy on cable. I should go to the bank. I've done a load of laundry and fifteen mintues but not a page nor Jim nor hardly any reading. Shirelle in her black and white checkered kitchen just pulled her pants down to her sneakers... "I've got two heat seeking missles on my tail." "How was the movie?" asked thing. "How many times did you jack off?" asked Mac. There's no beer left in the fridge.