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Overslept, just made it to class on time, got textbooks, had meeting, went nine hours without breakfast, blah blah blah...

then, in the final half-hour of the day, a simple action resulting from the confluence (perhaps wrong word, but it sounds sooo right) of numerous diverse factors made this a day to remember.

After leaving the poetry reading, I was approached (happens occasionally, but only after I perform, which I did not tonight) by a girl (occurs considerably more rarely) who had been drawn by my hat (finally, the beacon stops attracting street people and Jesus freaks and gets women homing in on it!)

"Property is theft." I nod sagely, waggle my eyebrows a bit perhaps, spin to head off again and am pursued briefly to have her e-mail address impressed upon me.

I haven't said anything yet and this person has given me her e-mail address! How does she know I'm a geek?

It gets worse, though. Beneath the scarves on her wrist are fresh scars, superficially concealed but proudly announced prior to her own performance earlier, a winsome tale of interracial puppy love in Nairobi, inflected in just the right way for maximum exotica-establishing.

Delicious. I can't acknowledge this, because I'm sure she could very very easily destroy me. Still, getting thrown balls out of left field is good for reflection and taking stock of your situation.

in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...

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