The pants contained the dirt from my first trip to the Badlands when we were lost for hours on the prairie like a pothead version of the Ingalls.
Note the Thomas Wolfe books signifying great literary pretenses never to be realized even by 30 when a pathetic self-published compendium of gloomlight is all I ever put out.
The comforter masks the window so a sniper incident would be unlikely afterhours.
Note the hidden orioles sticker.
This was taken at the time I was selling off all my cds after being inspired to live a simple life by the Unabomber.
I never have to work on President's Day as long as I work here. I don't believe anyways. I'll check my calendar and get back to you but my first inclination is that that would be a great day in history.
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