manhattan beach and half-moon two-steps, quarter dollar arcades, and dirty car stereos: the end of summer is a fine time to go nuts. tick, tick, boom, sings the bedrooms - each one torn apart by our dog (the punk rufio, i swear, we took a velociraptor dressed up in fur back from the pound.) every night is poker night in our corner of the suburbs... until the dog leaps up (he's got hops) and trots all over our hearts (the suit, i mean... sorry, corny metaphor.)

at night, though, it gets lonely: i get caught up watching the television's blue-static skinned shadows sumersault through my room. and it's so lazy - not even enough energy to blog.