So leaving trying to figure out why in the name of the sweet Lord Jesus I watched the Super Bowl (I seemed to have forgotten that watching television isn't a social activity) I watched her run away. She couldn't have been running for any reason besides avoiding me. It was comical, grafted from bad teen romance, but stung nonetheless, until I heard Jorge Ben blasting out of some window. Self-pity has never dissipated so quickly. I don't know who was blasting Ben but I would've liked to.

Ok-time for a key-lime. And how about a beat? (coughing and huffing and whistling and a comb and furniture stomping)