The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Truth hurts, weirdness baffles.

Walking through the Farmer's Market, old guy walks by us says something implying I am walking with my father. Which is insulting, but even more ridiculous since I am older than Dylan, and I do look it. I say "asshole" but probably too late for him to hear it.

Why can't I let this bit of intrusive stupidity go?


  1. It’s really weird, the things that bother us.
    I wonder why some do and others, much worse, don’t.

  2. What’s even weirder is that I’ve just had a mail delivery notification telling me that my email to you could not be delivered. Eh?
    Do they know something we don’t?

  3. Friko,

    Dunno, ignore apparently. Although, I often do not publish comments on this site.


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