So the death party was a blast. There was a distressing lack of single straight women, but I had a good time. I completed my living will. End of life decisions and all that. In a nutshell: gimme all the morphine, codeine etc...you can get your hands on and then leave me to die. I suppose there's still the matter of all my shit. Who gets which guitar? Do I just leave them all for Bunni? What's he gonna do with a left-handed guitar? Who wants a house full of books? Can't leave the Glock for Dad, he'll wind up using it on someone. Someone please wipe my hard drive clean. Thank you.
In other news, Eugene, our favorite East Atlanta crackhead turned back up just as suddenly as he had disappeared. Most had written him off for dead. Turns out the story I'd heard was at least partly true. Held up the gas station with a cap gun and got out on time served after nine months. Or something like that. But he's back. Just like old times.
