There is a short bass solo near the end of Journey to the Center of The Mind by Amboy Dukes, which I heard on the way in to work, that always reminds me of Spinal Tap.
There is a legless woman who is always in the locker room at my gym, regardless of the time I’m there – night or day, weekday or weekend. She is also, without fail, naked and soapy. Usually she is talking to herself in front of the mirror. Other times, she’s very slowly wheeling her squeaky wheelchair in front of the toilet stall where I’m sitting, nervous.
There is a new couple living at the end of my street. I think they are drug dealers because there are always cars and people coming and going. The buyers mostly look like ex-frat boys, so I assume they’re selling pot.
There is something going on with my sleep pattern lately – when it’s time for me to get up, for some reason I’m in heavy dream-state and have a hard time swimming up to the surface.
There is a strong possibility that the cheese and onion enchiladas at Spanish Village are the best in Houston. And I’m not just saying that because the margaritas are deadly.