Moving through the edge of night - dust is dancing in the space - a dog and bird sound far away. Hacked up the last of that hobo virus sick and gelatinous in a shivering dawn sitting cold at my cot on a bright sunny San Diego morning. Walked downtown - pass the hot construction workers and that stinking ass bum that lays in the same place - at least he is consistent - I walked to the pharmacy and bought some dope to clear my head and it is clear. Right as rain, you stuck up bitches.
Made nicey-nice with The Father and I guess I am getting sentimental in my crotchity old age - even mailed the old man a Christmas card. I hate fucking Christmas.
Spent the afternoon in the cinema and sat through I am Legend, the third go round of that apocalyptic tale of old. Charleston Heston and Vincent Price are rolling in their graves - wait! Chuckie is still with us. He's pissed.
Flirting with the various indigenous characters that inhabit that hive that I currently reside in. Mostly waiting, waiting for something to happen - to get a sign. But, mostly lay in my bunk and think - think of getting back to TJ and settle in and start making movies again. Fuck Costa Rica - bunch of snotty slobs with no class to them. I'll stay in the land of the free, home of the brave. Or at least until the Thought Police come and get me at night while I sleep...