Three shots of Jameson

didn't mess up my system last night. Lindsey and Dana wanted to be at HG. It was quiet on the street and inside at the bar. There was a talk of going to the beach and Israel's unique theological problem of not letting the Sinai become geographically obsolete for say, maritime purposes. Murtaza called from the other side, on his way to work. He thought I was lonely. Dard now works in Islamabad. He didn't know which Waqar was I talking about. I don't think anyone of us who were present on that brightly fucked-up spring day have gone back to say 'Hi' to Waqar. Or perhaps that's not surprising given what stuff (Dain wanted to know the word for stuff in Urdu @ the bar: tough question) happened right in front of us which brought on that morning like a bright, fucked-up, tragic in a big way kind of day. It is a shame.