early, dark thunderstorms. lightning through the cracked curtain. mug quivered off the air conditioner unit smashing a glass of stale water. Dreams of long cement driveways in the suburbs with black dogs running every which way. Morning, pouring sopping rain, everything slow moving and soaked. Williamsburg streets, read about Rosanne Barr's anarchist nut farm in Hawaii and her attempts at running for President in 2012. She will make war illegal, marijuana legal, she states,

"Whatever I can't figure out, I'll get from big experts at MIT—people that have answers. I want 100 percent geniuses, no lobbyists. And 53 percent women, to reflect the character of the country. Also a lot of poor people. I'm thinking of voting an entirely new government in rather than be part of our crumbling, rotting, unfixable one."

Watched a woman with two legs as thin as train rails and very well groomed man standing and continuously drinking espresso after espresso and smoking a fresh package of Marlboros.

Cody and I wonder into an empty Indian Restaurant. A long hallway of a place with rose pink tablecloths, plastic pink chrysanthemums in plastic vases and pink napkins folded like turrets on each empty table setting. The waiter was always a stone-throw away with a pitcher of water filling my metal goblet after every sip.

The rain has started to seep into the subway stations from cracks in the ceiling, there is a river of brown chocolate colored water rushing over the tracks. workers are sweeping water into the tracks with brooms.

Triple shot of coffee under several globes floating in space at Atlas Triple Shot Cafe. Read and relax.

Kill another roach scurrying on the exposed brick wall.