7-14-99 W 1:16 PM
I'm at the beer bar in the middle of Farmer's Market.  I read the paper. I'm on my second beer. I was talking with a very old guy who looks like he belongs in a Sergio Leone western.  Another guy was talking about Into Thin Air, so we talked Everest some.  The bar was grilling me about my tattoo and about doing the crossword puzzle.  Crosswords led to Everest which led to "Jeopardy!," so we talked about that for a while.  Sergio Leone has a cancerous-sounding cough.  I haven't eaten today.  I smoked, and now I feel dizzy and weak.  This dull pencil robs my writing muscles of strength.  An old guy asking about my tattoo says he loves cartoons.  "Yeah," I said, "when I was a kid I used to lie in bed and pray that I'd have cartoon dreams instead of nightmares."  The bar murmurs this over.  I guess because I'm the new guy, I'm the source of some interest.  "After a while, though, I started to dream about naked ladies."  This turn away from nightmares restores the bar's good nature.       I need a massage.  What shall I eat?  I guess after this I ought to pedal back home and work up a page for Jim.  MOCA is going to be at night school tonight.  I want to golf tomorrow.  I talked to my grandparents this morning.  They know I'm going to the Bahamas with a Shirelle.  I said "we," and they said, "Who's 'we?'"  I said, "A girl," and Gramps said, "No shit," and I said, "Shirelle."   They seemed to suggest that I'd have more fun if I went with another guy.  Gramma suggested I'd meet more girls, which translated to me as my own gramma saying I'd have a better time trying to fuck strangers.      There was a wee weed in me smoke.      What else?     The American League beat the National League last night at Fenway in the seventieth Major League All-Star Game.  Pedro Martinez struck out the first four batters he faced and won the game's MVP award.