Insomnia

So. A tricky storm is springing up around the corner of the building. Windows rattle, punctuating the Hollywood grade moaning sound made by the wind like teeth in a set of dentures being bought on the layaway plan. Or something.
The truth is I haven't slept in days and it is beginning to affect my writing. Death is clearly inevitable.
Though I suppose it has provided a topic. (Look at me, turning my frown upside down.) I have also managed to hook up my swish new wireless printer and, look, there on TV the new "giant ship sinks and kills a bunch of people" is on: Poseidon. Definitely not all bad: look at that wave!

Leaving Vancouver

5.50 pm Time on road 6 hours. Almost descending into LAX. 2.5 hours of pressing ass with a fat monster truck afficianado who insists on turning to look out the window which presses his mobile phone, still clearly turned on, into my leg. As I write this he is farting on me, in real time. I can feel it through my trousers which I will now have to burn... Just beyond the horizon of his monster truck t-shirt, and just below the peak of his 'Lock and Load' camouflage hat, I can make out bits of the desert. Think of sitting beside Uranus on a plane. He lifts an empty fruit drink bottle to his lips and spits tobacco slop, completely detroying my reverie.