Wave of Heat
I’ve been walking around with ice cubes in my pants in order to keep cool or lying prone on the floor ala Emma Carol. Thank God for the air conditioner in my bedroom otherwise, I’d have to start shooting up. But, no, there’s no such thing as global warming. Or economic distress. In response to a reporter’s question about the declining economy, our President said, “Well, heck-fire, I’m not an economist! I don’t know!” I’m reading this nonfiction book called The Sociopath Next Door. The author keeps emphasizing how statistics prove that one in every 24 people is a sociopath. Consequently, I’ve now diagnosed about ten people as sociopaths including Shawn, Angela, other exes from Chicago, my neighbor, the guy working at H & M, Coffee Shop Boy, and Ernesto. Padhraig let me borrow about twenty of his CDs to add music to my i-pod. I’ve never been a groupie. Don’t know why except it seems like a lot of work to like a guy in a band. They travel all the time, they keep late hours, they’re on...