i'm just recovering from a bout of writer's block. i still feel a bit sluggish, heavy-headed, hung over from too much rest... the Block held my thoughts down for months, weighing me down physically. the dark cloud seems to have cleared.... this blogging business seems like a good enough cure (the sour idea of sharing your private thoughts with the general public!), although i'm infinitely (ludditely) wary of computers, but i'll try... ok, here goes...
it was saturday, one of those gaudily-coloured owambe-ish afternoons when i pretend to be social and affect an expansive countenance. the monotony of the uniformity of the day's aso ebi looked irritatingly boring. i was praying for some disorder, when it exploded through the door --- in a bulky checkered suit (black and blue checks!), a red shirt, fat white tie, a Yankees baseball hat, a pair of orange shoes that stood out in the crowd, well, he had this pretty unwifely-looking lady(if i can call her that) hanging onto his arm, her make up was so deep it masked her mien (and age). they looked a pretty picture as they posed for the cameras...to humor them, i asked for a shot (with my phone), and the wife snapped, 'From which magazine?!' 'Just for keeps,'I replied. 'Okay, put us on the cover, and our names are Mary and Mike I....'
