"His bicycle seemed to fall beneath him, and he loved it. Recklessness is almost a man's revenge on his woman. He feels he is not valued, so he will risk destroying himslef to deprive her altogether."

When you remember a phrase or word in a book and you know whether or not its on the left or right and exactly where it is on the page? What's up with that?

Yeterday the car died in front of the bank downtown, which I find highly ironical, as i was trying to scramble there and to kelly's bank and back to the post office to mail the rent. 30 seconds before it died, I put on my left blinker to get in the left lane so I could pull over in front of the bank, which appeared out of nowhere 10 feet in front of me. See, in Boston, there is always the inner dilemna with changing lanes: use the blinker or cut the guy off? Why would you cut the guy off, all y'all from Tuskeegee and Cleveland may ask? That's just plain rude. No, it's a damn necessity in Boston because the road systems are so FUCKED UP that letting someone in front of you could psycologically cost you 20 minutes drive time, so when someone puts thier directional on, that's your cue to speed the fuck up so you are attached to the trailer hitch of the guy in front of you and ask him to pass you a light. Seriously. But not in Texas. People are so goddamned fucking nice, you spill coffee on them and they hand you ten dollars. So, I put my blinker on with NO FEAR. Fucker speeds up! Seriously! So I put my hand out the window all anrgy, like, you know, a "what the fuck!?" hand and the guy guy slams on his brakes as i swerve a "that's what I fucking thought!" swerve the fuck over to the curb like barely making the parking spot at the end of the block and turn the car off. Open the door,

"Where's the ATM."

"Last lane of the drivethru."

My life is so slutty with the irony.

I go out to the car, and it won't turn over. I rolled it perpendicular across three lanes of traffic to a legal 2 hour meter. It's still there. I think.

An hour after the car died, I was walking up Guadalupe twards the University of Texas campus. I stopped in every arcade and played Dance Dance Revolution. For those of you who are DDR diehards, I have to boast that I had a small crowd gather by the time I was racking up the perfects on "Stomp to My Beat." It was around 11:30 am, sunny, 72 degrees and by that time, I felt like the car dying was the coolest thing that could have happened. The post office was on campus and I took the opportunity to wander around and check the campus out. It's pretty, the architecture is a lot like the villa in Perfect Dark. Spanish, orange roofs and white stucco. Cactusees rock, flowers, you name it, Indians raising money for children, everyone in puke rusty orange with longhorn logos. I went to the library and looked at the catalog. Scholl rules. Stay in school. Go back to school. Burn the school. Whatever. School, man. School.

36 hours after the car died, I'm in a fully carpeted blue gray berber room in a converted motel with my trombone, two Mexicans (one of whom looks like a UMASS hippie white German kid named Danny with bad fashion sense who I am assured is really, truly Mexican), kelly, Tyrone the teddy bear, an old analog synth none of us knew how to use and were treating like a leperous kitten, and a mini fridge full of Bush pounders that have the shape of Texas in the logo (lots of things have special TX editions, especially cheap beer and trucks) and I'm thinking, "Is it because this state is so big, or the people are dumb? Why am I destined to have only guys as friends? Where's the queso? Where the hell am I?"

Now it's too-late-to-count hours since the car died and I have to go to bed because the Mexican-looking Mexican of 36 hours after the car died who wrote "I Love Mexicans" on my inner left wrist at Pluckers at 1:30 am yesterday while we were waiting for the precious queso is meeting me at the car to see if he can fix it tomorrow. Buenas noches, las personas blancas, peque�as y tontas. �Permanezca en la escuela!