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Tuesday, January 6, 2004

An empty IMPE in an empty Chambana finished with a set of tricep curls and, pacing thoughtfully, thinking, "Bjork song on the radio when I first came in, she reminds me of soft beautiful things. She recorded her last album alone in a dark room with her baby in her belly. Thin white girls with babies in their bellies. Ceserean, no doubt, the babies, that is. Gyneth Paltrow knocked up. Chris Martin you lucky fucker. My brother's name is Chris, my name is Martin. Tee-hee, Chris Martin. Get it? Tee, I forgive you and your Coldplay."

"Shiver" The first song of Coldplay's first album begins to play right then through the lone pitiful speakerhorn hanging 20 feet above me in a room with the shitty acoustics of a racquetball court.

Without showering I migrate from IMPE to Cafe Luna for lunch. Grilled salmon sand:which was topped with alfalfa sprouts and alio cucumber sauce and small heart shaped leaves of green romaine lettuce sprinkled with slivers of swiss cheese all over a warm, toasted buttery slice of sourdough bread. Accompanied, no less, by seven to eight gentle morsels of seasoned sweet potatoes, lined up directly below four purple grapes, still clinging onto their little branches. Amputating, no- liberating the grapes for their stems with smacking lips I watched the bubbly foam atop my Spaten beer sink. All throughout ingestion process treated to the entirety of Coldplay's second album, A Rush of Blood to The Head. Coincidentally, mind you.

I felt like the waitress spoke to me like as if she knew I hadn't had a conversation with another person in days, "That's right," I thought to myself in breaths between casual banter about coffee and the Intervasion Christian Fellowship, "It's been days."

Directly from Cafe Luna, to Walgreens for contact solution and dishwasher detergent. Pausing, telepathically opening the automatic sliding door, stepping in over slush and into the opening chords of In My Place, a catchy Coldplay song with an even catchier guitar riff, playing over the cable broadcasted radio station.

Coldplay is the Band of the Year, today I found out, according to the cover of a Spin magazine. After Luna, before going home, there in the magazine section of the Illini Union Bookstore I saw what I had been hearing all day long: Mr. Martin & his overwhelming blues.

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