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The Christmas decorations are going up all over Orchard Road, where supermodels with crutches cruise sidewalk bars and play practical jokes on bus drivers. Meanwhile a hundred people aged between 15 and 70 are performing a synchronized dance routine in a tent while a busker plays Creedence Clearwater Revival on a Chinese banjo.
It is a full moon in Singapore tonight.
Which would explain all the howling drunks in Borders. Although they could have been driven mad by the constant beeping of the malfunctioning shoplifter alarm. I’d like to think it would also explain the random shelf placement of 40% of Borders’ stock. But that’s been a problem for years. To say nothing of the worrying trend that 80% of the horror section is occupied by bas-ass women in tight leather pants who are either vampires, or werewolves, or bounty hunters who hunt either.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying.
No matter. I have Wild Turkey, some new authors to try (James M Cain, Dashiell Hammett – no, never read either before) and the new Jonathan Richman album. All is well.
Except for this strange throbbing in my glands. And of course these goddamn deadlines I’ve been ignoring.
Still, I always feel inspired after visiting the book stores. Half an hour of browsing is all it takes to remind me that, Christ, if these people can get a book deal, why can’t I?
Enough. I need granola bars and antibiotics. Then we will roll up our sleeves and get to work.
Man at work,
This is dF
It is a full moon in Singapore tonight.
Which would explain all the howling drunks in Borders. Although they could have been driven mad by the constant beeping of the malfunctioning shoplifter alarm. I’d like to think it would also explain the random shelf placement of 40% of Borders’ stock. But that’s been a problem for years. To say nothing of the worrying trend that 80% of the horror section is occupied by bas-ass women in tight leather pants who are either vampires, or werewolves, or bounty hunters who hunt either.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying.
No matter. I have Wild Turkey, some new authors to try (James M Cain, Dashiell Hammett – no, never read either before) and the new Jonathan Richman album. All is well.
Except for this strange throbbing in my glands. And of course these goddamn deadlines I’ve been ignoring.
Still, I always feel inspired after visiting the book stores. Half an hour of browsing is all it takes to remind me that, Christ, if these people can get a book deal, why can’t I?
Enough. I need granola bars and antibiotics. Then we will roll up our sleeves and get to work.
Man at work,
This is dF
