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Friday, March 26, 2004

keyless kinch, the fearful jesuit

yesterday at penny's on diversey with a foreign beer and a pretty girl. only lied once, maybe twice.


 


afterwards walking tour of lincoln park and the sometimes ballsy architecture of the neighborhood houses. the jesuit statue priest on the de paul quad was offering advice (drugs?) to other stoned students.


 


still in gringolandia after the adieu, yerba mate at a tea shop, then piper's alley for eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. 


 


on the walk back to the train $3 pints of Harp's Lager at a murphy's-esque pub. not as think as you drunk i am, writing alone in the corner by the light of the neon bar signs. cue popular REM song.


 


enter 40-year old former drummer currently valet parker Paul. "fuckin' fags," he said and "let's not fucking talk about religion, ok?"


 

back down south finally on the long and lonely red line. no dice for a bus ride home at 3, 4ish. so a yo-yo back up 15 miles on the el for a beefy, greasy breakfast at clarke's on belmont. no home keys, called mom, hi goodmorning, i'm comming home. at 6am. roll poignant ozzy osbourne tune.

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