June 4, 2002, 2:05 a.m.

Coughing like they might not make the afternoon

back & forth

Sorry this entry's so long in coming -- it took me a few days to hitchhike home. The last thing I remember is the little blue aliens descending upon Saturday night's party, and I woke up Sunday evening in Chattanooga wearing a lime green sari and an aching new tattoo of Gustav Mahler on my left ass-cheek. Fortunately for me, after having walked barefoot most of the way to that shitty diner in Virginia, I met a nice wicker salesman from New Hampshire who shared his show-tunes collection with me most of the way back up the coast. I got out of his Lincoln in Jersey, pointed myself north on 95. Less than a mile away, his car was pulled over on the hard shoulder. "Hey kid," he said, "you need these more than I do," and tossed me a stick of kohl, a black wig, and a packet of Nat Sherman Natural Lights

Must have been some party. Perhaps some loyal reader who was there can tell me about it.

Happy birthday, CC. Hey to WQ, in town from sweaty Sw*rthm*r*. Good night.