The world has cancer but it ought to be fine.

Fair warning: this is a love-post.

So I spent Tuesday night in a bar, drinking the start of the workweek away. It's a cool little invite-only bar in Shin-Matsudo that I happen to have scored an invite to. The bartender, Matz, likes me because we both went through a bout of heartbreak at the same time, earlier this month. Tuesday at Willy's (the bar's name for some damn reason) was strangely lovelorn: the bar was full of single guys, drinking away their sorrows. Because of that, we were all in pretty high spirits. I learned Johnny Walker had labels above red--I recommend the green, when you get a chance. I spent about two hours in there, from 11-1.

NOW. It didn't occur to me until late the next day, but Tuesday was the 25th of September. Three years previous, at around 1-o'fucking-clock inna morning, I asked Emily out on a bridge on UPGs campus. It came after a long conversation, and afterwards we walked, for damn near two hours. Three years to the hour (sans timezonology) after asking Emily out and setting out on a walk around campus, I left the heartbroken bar, and walked home. There's poetry here, and I mean to squeeze it out of every metaphorical stone onto as much paper as is necessary.

Anyways, I've been listening to early Tom Waits ever since. It's killing me a little bit, but it's also kinda cool at the same time. Maybe that's masochistic.