Andrew J. Lederer

had a couple of tropical drinks at the zombie hut. may still be very slightly feeling the effects.

was hanging with a friend and collaborator with whom projects for various media were discussed -- some are actually going to happen, so it was fun.

still, was for some reason slightly disengaged. (i know these two descriptions are inconsistent but you might as well enjoy the cognitive dissonance, 'cause neither perspective is going away.)

the zombie hut -- in carroll gardens/cobble hill/south brooklyn/red hook/bococa -- was our final stop. we met up at the tea lounge in park slope, took the bus to kfc in sunset park, wandered into an authentic mexican place also in sunset park, ambled west toward white castle and its delicious sliders, gazed at the nation's oldest surviving piece of a major league baseball park in gowanus (where the dodgers played before ebbets field), then finally crossed the gowanus canal to enjoy cool, polynesian beverages and the bar owner's glorious ass.

at least we remembered it as glorious. i think she lost weight since the last time we objectified her (or that part of her, anyway) and her ass now seemed diminished in every way. not unattractive, of course. but no more than fine.

and then i was alone.

would do some writing (oh yeah, i guess i kinda am) but i've been too tired.

wrote a lot earlier today, though. comedic stuff.

mildly remunerative, which for continuing readers of this blog should prove surprising, since my poverty is the through line on which all else here is hung.

don't worry. i will not get enough to end the poverty.

and don't ask what, exactly, i did.

but infer from the previous blog post what you will, keeping in mind that my suspicions were not unfounded.

ok. can't talk about that anymore. mysterious, no? (and lots more interesting as a mystery than as something about which i can talk.)

tomorrow, i change the subject. (i hear clicking on the phone line. is someone listening?)

i love you at least as much as bethany black does.

andrew