guts and garters

It's all fun and games until someone loses molecular cohesion.

Monday, February 17, 2003

4pm, I'm back from the shopping, it's time to make a cup of coffee and settle down for the Afternoon Internet. Headlines today include:

Why are black heavy metal band T-shirts considered White Trash? These things are expensive, y'know.

KLF. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.

There's a walkway between Collins St and Flinders Lane that runs through what is possibly the Male's favourite building in this entire city, 333 Collins St. (I must admit, it is an impressive and endearing edifice, reminiscent of such lovely atmospheres as Batman and Blade Runner.) I walked down this walkway today, and thought that maybe I could do this, say, three or four times a day and never be free of inspiration. Although it does really require echoing heels and billowing drapery, rather than jeans, a White Trash black heavy metal T-shirt and squeaking red sandshoes. But I did my best.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I did not fall in love with a baked potato.

Afternoon Internet ends. Film at 11.


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