I don’t very often think I’ve done a good job. I don’t like the majority of what I do. I shouldn’t say I don’t like it, but I’m not satisfied with almost everything that I do.
I met my old lover on the street last night. She seemed so glad to see me, I just smiled. Then we talked about some old times and we drank ourselves some beers, still crazy after all these years.
Maybe the heart is part of the mist. And that’s all that there is or could ever exist. Maybe and maybe and maybe some more. Maybe’s the exit that I’m looking for.
