Holy balls God, it's hot today. Must be 100 (F, not C: We'd be liquid), bright as all hell out there, baking my sorry, pasty ass. My birthday arrives in a few weeks: I remember growing up, it always being a little on the chilly side, the tips of the oak tree on the front lawn beginning to yellow, throwing on a windbreaker before playing outside. That autumn smell, you just don't get that in So Cal.

Jeez, I never thought I'd use "So Cal". Maybe I'll start my own thing, like, "SouCali" or "Thernfornia". Maybe not.

Only 3 weeks until the boss and his piece of ass on the side head back to the field to shoot. Then the chains will fall, dancing will commence, and my dick will grow three inches!

I like the new short story I've started on, about the narcoleptic prize fighter in the 1930's. You will too, bitches.