vern said one o'clock.

priorites are a tricky endeavor.

when did ten o'clock classes become discretionary? rather, when did late breakfast and dubble bubble gum balls find a niche in my hierarchy of importance?

probably about the same time my garage-room flooded and my laundry pile threatened to engulf me as i slept, but no matter. it's a happy place here, where strangers are the norm and quiet is rare, and clothing is optional and seldom encouraged, and you can't help but succomb to the pulse of the people and their pets and the love notes scrawled and scattered on every surface.

this place is a piece of poetic prose, with odd.ly placed punctuation and accidental metaphors and i would much rather be here than- well, anywhere. especially a mundanely tedious ten o'clock class.

plus, we might get to meet vern.