My trip to New York, which you didn't know about, has been delayed. Oui, there will be no fun dans la Grosse Pomme avec Julia this weekend. That means Carrington is a sad Carrington. Carrington is so sad, he's writing about himself in the third person. And that's pretty damn sad.
Bright side lookin', I was bought pizza this evening by Linda and Audra as thanks for lending them a hand this week. I will work for food. This is not news.
Afterwards Linda took me to see Ocean's Twelve because she is nice and I am fun to be with. Or so I tell myself. (I tell myself this in the third person, too, so it's easy for me to believe me. I find me very persuasive.)
We had to remember which straw was hers in the Too Large For Any Pair Of Sane People, Or Us, To Drink In One Sitting drink. She has some sort of Twelve Monkeys cold coming on, and I didn't want to be the first victim of Typhoid Linda.
