Brooklyn, NY - 8/25

After work on Monday, all three of us were fried. We exhaled on the couch and decided to go out. Mitch and I split a bottle of Shirakabe, eel, and pepper tuna.

I’m writing you this from my hideout in Singapore, where I’ve escaped these tired days and excessive nights. It feels alien, watching the internet post supposed cures for Mondays or boredom while I trim the fat and stop drinking. I don’t mean to play critic, but it seems very far away.

Especially when I ended these notes–likely compiled a few days after, but maybe even the same night–with: “What the fuck did we talk about?”

Try to remember.