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Home from work. It's maybe 1:45.

Transient. Early Rider. Call this what you will - I'm home on this air-filled cushion, surrounded by a 0-degree sleeping bag. My car is parked several blocks away (thanks to the dudes scopin it out earlier today, scattering when I arrived), tortilla chips and Amstel in my stomach, and a healthy lust for adventure waiting to vomit from top of my cranium. I could scream right now, but that might wake Sophie up.

I have the day off tomorrow - and I'm tempted to be bold. I mean, I don't normally go too far out of my way (that's a lie, I do, but usually for selfish reasons) and I'm sitting here wondering if I should go for a nice drive in the morning. A true Jaunt.

Assuming my car's still there. Preferably unticketed.
(Crappy lifestyle, this is. Can you see why I'm looking for places in Monrovia? This transient Koreatown business has worn down my soul. 90% of my morning is spent hoping my freakin car is still there. So lame.)

Anyway back to Jaunts. Tomorrow I may jaunt, I may not. I just have this inkling of an idea that maybe I could snag something worthwhile by taking a day to venture from my working haven towards something pretty, and foreign.
Plus driving time lets me memorize scripts.

I might. Who knows. It's unquestionable that I have to be in Monrovia to check out a place by the evening, so we'll see.

If the world were a lobster, logistics is the shell. Crack that body. Break it apart. You don't need butter, it's too good as it is!

I've literally never eaten lobster. Here's to spineless metaphors, and inflatable mattresses.

Sophie just spoke in her sleep. She said "help somebody, help." Quietly. For the record, that's frightening. But I'll ignore it - no inceptions tonight.

What was this blog about? Who knows. All will be well, and so goodnight.

Migs