Travel down to Bloomington, IN to see Dad. We’ll play him I’ll Sleep with your Shirt Tonight in person as a part of our film. We were gonna be on a bus like Midnight Cowboy. ‘Cept dad finds a venue, Cinemat. They give us three hours to fill on November 8th. Others must go too. Hoping to bring tap dancers, German Expressionists, and one guitar hero packed in a ragtag of vehicles. Pile in Dad’s floor?

Keep lookin’ at Lake Monroe on the front of last week’s travel section.

Hannis,

How can I tell you this, we have to postpone the Indiana gig. The gallery sent me an email back in July to tell me they wanted to move my opening to November 8th, but I forgot to put it on my calendar. And now I’m trying to fit too much onto my schedule. I ate halfway through a pork roast, now I don’t know whether to stop or keep eating. Sorry Hannis, I fucked up.

Hourly smoke break is now turning bi-hourly. I can’t sleep. This was supposed to be our year. Phone calls were not returned because I was too busy cakin’, Sorry Hannis, I fucked up.

Don’t think I don’t care about you. I love playing with you. I loved all of your advice (Better than Pyong’s). Maybe later I’ll figure out how to juggle my life around, then I’ll get better at it. But for now, I fucked up, and I’m sorry.

See you at karaoke.