As I write this, I'm listening to Vinyl, realizing the rut I put myself into recently, life wise. Farm work has made everything tiresome, and I'm trying hard as possible not to fall asleep while writing. At the moment, I have nothing compelling to complain, critique, or comment about, except little personal things that would only interest some but not a lot of people.
I haven't seen The Fabulous Mr. Moy at his place in awhile. At least he takes photos and places them on flickr. He's been taking cool photos of his neighbourhood. I helped Johnny Sixteen relocate from one place to another earlier this week, and the only thing I fear about his new place are the stairs outside as they are wooden and would be slippery in the winter time.
I went to a keg party last night in London, but the only people I wanted to talk to were working bar or the door. I did take photographs, but I haven't uploaded them yet. I had to get there by the farm car as my car would not start. My car wants to die, I think. It's a 1995 Pontiac Sunfire with over 343000 kms (213140 miles) on it. I've been having problems with keeping the car on. I can't idle or it will stall and will not start. I'm waiting for the part I need so my car can get better. I haven't done any antiquing in strange small towns for awhile. However, I've been going to a coin store to buy comics (Yes, I'm aware of the possible irony). To me, most of these sentences are related, but that would involve a boring monotonous explaination that would put me to sleep.
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