I'm a writer currently living in Las Vegas, loathing the city and drinking away the days, trying to escape the madness. Check out DrewBlanche.com for more info.
Thursday night.
I’m drinking some cheap rum, listening to new James Blunt and rolling my own cigs. I’m in the middle of my book, trying to finish it up this month. It’s slowly beginning to take shape, but it’s still dragging along in a very slow pace. And the hot weather doesn’t seem to help me too much. I wish it were cold, winter I do better. I write more, the depression seems to add up at the end of the year but whether that matters much does not seem to be a real problem.
I’m just ready to hit the road and disappear for a year or two. See where I end up, if I die or survive, if I shed my skin or melt away in the sun. I can feel the stubble on my face, and I shaved a day or two ago. I can see my blond hair starting to grow out and my mind isn’t always clear and my soul isn’t always free but I continue on.
I continue on.
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY
