Patrick L. Sullivan

So it’s Wednesday and it’s raining and grey, like my mood, which is always grey and sort of rambling and nonsensical in a disorganized sort of way, you know?

And so my upstairs neighbor is a nurse, I think. She keeps weird hours, weirder than me, and she must have been watching some sort of horror movie last night because I woke up at about 3:15 a.m. to the faint sound of a woman screaming and some kind of power tool going “Rarrrr rarrrrr rarrrr!”

In my old building this would be normal but in my new nice place it is not so I listened some more and finally went out to the living room and turned on the TV and sure enough there it was: “The Drill Bit Murders.”

I saw that movie high on a mixture of amyl nitrate, rubbing alcohol and Venezuelan goat cheese the summer before I got sold into white slavery by my old Scoutmaster. I thought it sucked then but now it seems pretty good.

Well, I have to go to the new therapist now so I will check in later.

Francis