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2007-07-13 - 4:16 p.m.

I ate two hot dogs for lunch today. And a Dr. Pepper. And I ate them while sitting on a concrete planter outside of a strip mall store that sells barbeque equipment. I forgot to bring anything to read, so I read their signs a lot. Their door said they were "America's Number One Retail Barbeque Chain."

I've never lived with a girl before. I think I'm about ready to try it out. The girl says she thinks I'm scared. She's right. I've been with a couple of crazy girls. This one's not crazy at all. Well, you know.

I've got a hundred pages of manuscript. We'll see. It's easier writing about stuff when stuff's happening. I don't know how Annie Dillard and those sort of all-in-the-head writers do it. They must be really smart or have really interesting thoughts. I think a lot about riding my bike and whether I'd make for a good father and what it felt like to kick a soccer ball into the back of the net and what different girls might look like naked.

Question: Who loves the medley at the
end of Abbey Road? Answer: This guy.

I'm still at my office, but I don't know why. I've done nothing all day except write about one time when my little brother Ryan and I went squirrel hunting with BB guns and when I shot a tiny bird and felt bad about it and never really went hunting again, even though we were really just play-hunting. And I ate hot dogs and listented to the Beatles a lot. And drank tea and generally contributed nothing to anyone but myself. I wonder how many words I've said today? Do we need to talk? Probably, yes. Is that why we talk to ourselves? Do we need to sound smart? Do we need to impress ourselves? Probably, yes.

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