the contents are strange and icky.

Looking into the back of Jonathan’s pick-up truck, I tried to calculate the odds that one of the boxes would fly onto the street and spill my life into a Peoplestown gutter. What shook me from the gaze: (a) my painful inability to calculate the odds of anything (see my poker skills) and (b) all [...]

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§32 · September 1, 2010 · The Overly-Personal · (No comments) · Tags: , , , ,