12.5.09
B. Gils in L. Vegas
Till next time Brian.
Be safe you magical bird, you.
We bike away to draw on a Native American themed greeting card and mail it to our friend Jesse who makes things move with his mind in Australia.
Brian opts for Nicotine and Potassium instead.
Great Idea. Psyke.
A broken hot tub at night in January is essentially a kiddie pool at night in January.
Dvorák.
Borodin.
Verdi.
Mussorgsky.
Sibelius.
Haydn.
Passerby's too apparently.
Fremont Street: where locals go to drink beer out of plastic footballs.
Hurray! Excess!
...but Brian seems to be adapting.
Las Vegas is predominantly dumb...
He now runs the Death Bike Ball O' Doom on the Strip and doodles in his free time.
One time, Brian told me "When I grow up, I want to be an adult boy".
Here is a painting he left at our old apartment.
I see it hanging on whatever walls I call my own for the rest of my life.
Several terrorist checkpoints later, I made it to Las Vegas and the strangely normal duplex my old pal Brian Gilson lives in.
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