Cloudman’s Coming To Dinner
Tuesday, March 2nd, 2004Ever just get that feeling that the dark cloud of doom’s been lurking around you? No? Me either. I mean, I remember once while living in Dayton Ohio I was walking back to my apartment on Creek Water and I saw this old Winnebago and the fight or flight part of my brain said this is bad, very very bad.
Other than that though, not lately, not here.
It’s in the seventies out here in DC and I feel spoiled for being here. I think I’ll get out and do something tonight if I’m not too tired. I don’t know yet.
Four days without smoking and already my inner demons are telling me what a schmuck I am. The womenfolk aren’t going to find you attractive smoke free or not, so why not settle in your misery with a little smokey? Sad, eh?
The title “Cloudman’s Coming to Dinner” reflects a comment an over-drunk man made at the Max and Erma’s restaurant in Cleveland Hopkins Airport last night. They were, for the record, some really neat clouds. I saw some outbursts of mammatocumuli in the reargrade of the storm system. They were painted purple and the only deep orange that matters of sunsets and really ripe tangerines.
The dude who said this last night had the look that he had said something coherent and proper. That’s how I knew he was drunk. That and his 87 dollar tab. (Lorrack, if you’re reading this.. see? Jimmy’s a good boy.)
Well, gotta go. Work calls.