Summer has finally come, so all the kids are leaving. The record store is empty. The sun is irresistable. I'm living in and for shorts. I'm working a lot at my day job, and spending long weekends setting up and taking down microphones. It feels good to be active; I feel on track, pacing myself, waiting in between questions, snacks and meals. I haven't written anything in ages but I'm not letting myself worry about it. The only two artistic prompts I have at the moment are "John McCain gets into a tiny car" and "peanut butter." I wore a giant white wig and fake flowers and wiggled around with a guitar. She looked into the window and quickly looked away. There were many apples but only one of them was inedible.