May 15, 2013

Yesterday was a wash in many regards.
It was an odd, missed day.
In the early morning I rolled with Kevin out to the dump on Dimeo Lane where tractors create dirt ramps up and down the mounds of buried garbage. I was struck by how similar it was to the truck and sand world I created and played with as a child. Dudes must love working there.
And that’s where the day essentially ended. I had Filly orders to ship and spent the remainder of the day waiting for FedEx to drop off inventory. I ate. Cleaned. Read. Paced. Drew flag ideas for Riverside. Checked and rechecked every possible interactive option on my phone a hundred times over. Slept. Until finally, at the end of the day they arrived and I flew into action in order to make the 6pm drop-off. Easy enough except that one order involved riding my slow creaking 3-speed over to the Westside to drop off and pick up a pair of Greta Pants.
To make a long story short, if you order Filly and you live in Santa Cruz I’ll pull up to your house on a bicycle, like an old fashioned French postmaster. I ring the bell on my bars upon arrival.



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