ah shit where was i?

ok so here's what i should do by the end of the month!

- entry about going back to boston for a few days, going back to acmpaign life, maybe five about working on the campaign and all that shit, then an entry about the last time i saw caitlin, then one about going to d.c. for a night, then cali, then back to texas and laredo and mexico and all that then back to cambridge in the spring, ppl i met, school, dean, etc, ummmm.. then sumemr in nyc with the girlfriend who hated me and putting ppl in cages for a living, then back to cambridge and nowww

shit

hopefully i'll be caught up to presen day by the end of january.


k lets rock WILL WRITE AN ENTRY TODAY AND HOPEFULLY EVERY DAMN DAY THIS MONTH WISH ME LUCK FAM <333

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sometimes i feel like i'm on a stationary bike


where i've been peddling and peddling for so long


that the bike station has been eroded and i'm now on some runaway bike




on a path to nowhere and somewhere without any sense of direction

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Dave(yes, OUR dave) showed me nothing but love from the moment we met that Friday evening, roughly six weeks into my Obama Campaign exile. I started that week living on a couch in Detroit, slept on a park bench in Pittsburgh Wednesday, and ended it in Midtown, Manhattan by Friday.


�What do you make of the city?� Dave asked a few days into my stay. From what I could tell, his life consisted of waking up every morning at 9, hopping on a handful of conference calls, maintaining excel sheets on one of his many laptops, walking around SoHo for a few hours, and ending it at a nightclub or bougie bar to find a tall, blonde woman to make a housewife out of.

�It�s a weird place, Dave. It seems like this city has a million different worlds in one � worlds that seemingly never interact while existing side-by-side.�

�What do you mean?�

�Take your doorman, for example.�

I don�t remember dude�s name, but I remember his voice. It was a real deep baritone, beautified by a real lush Nigerian accent. He was a gruff guy, and was mighty suspicious of me the first time we met. When I first arrived in Manhattan, Dave told me to wait for him inside his apartment and that if I had any trouble, just ask the doorman to let me in.

�Excuse me, sir, may I help you?� the doorman asked as I walked past him in the lobby

�Nah, I�m good.�

�Do you live here?� I�d like to feign indignation � and I reckon I probably am a bit that he�d ask me that question, but I did look a little suspect. Then again, you try to spend one night sleeping on a megabus and another on a park bench and still be pretty.

I waited in the lobby til Dave got back.


�You live here, in the Olivia, and you see him what, four, five times a week for months? What do you know about his life? His family, kids, all that shit?�

�I don�t really know him at all.�

�Yeah, that�s what I mean.. you two spend so much time side by side every day and neither of y�all know nothing about the other.�

�That is weird.�

�Yep.�

�What do you think of that one?� He says to me with a nod toward a tall, blonde woman across the street from us.

�All you.�

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Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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�The best thing? I don�t even � hold up, wait, no, I got it�� She paused to let the anticipation build. �The parties, man. We get it in, you know?� She turned from me and toward her friends beside her. One of them, a dude ironically wearing a Brooklyn Nets snapback, extended his hand, palm slighted, toward the sky for her to slap. �For real. What was the other question though?�

�The worst part. What�s the worst thing about Detroit?�

�The murders,� she said without a flinch. Again, she turned from me, but this time looked straight ahead.

Twenty or thirty people were out there with us, scattered around the parking lot of a mall. After spending a few days living in Chloe�s basement, I took a megabus from Pittsburgh to Detroit to stay with Rob, one of my closest friends. By this time, I�d spent time in Baltimore, D.C., Ohio, and Pennsylvania and had applied to jobs every at every stop with no luck. I reckoned I�d land a gig by the time I hit Detroit, but figured Rob would let me crash there for a week or two either way. Three days of feeling sorry for myself led me to get off his couch and check out his new city.


� I know, shit, maybe two people this summer,� her friend said as she glanced in my direction.

�Why were they killed? And by who?�

�Wrong place, wrong time. You know how it go��

�Fuck around with them fuck arounds, you fuck around and get smoked,� the third member of their group sang out suddenly, grinning. His antics seemed to annoy the two girls I was talking to before.

�It wasn�t even like that, Brandon, and you know that. And that song is stupid as fuck.�

�You know Lil Mouse got bangers. And it answered the man�s question,� he said with a nod toward my direction.


I studied the three of them as my bus pulled up. Brandon looked to be 19 or 20, darkskinned like me but a good three, four inches shorter. He had an arm wrapped around the second girl, and his lip pressed to her light skinned, freckled face while she smiled. The last member of their group, the woman I initially spoke to, looked the part of a college freshman � down to the pajamas in the daytime and a heavy backpack over her shoulder.

She had a bunch of water bottles in there though, not books. She offered me one to buy when I first sat down at the bus stop, spurring our initial conversations. As I stood up and walked toward the bus headed back uptown, I felt her gaze follow me.

I still feel it.

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