Monday, 30 July 2001 | Myke

I'm hoping this weekend was the last I'll have to borrow anyone's car for the rest of my life, but who can say? On Friday I drove my mom home from work so that I could keep her motorized cloud in order to be a little less dependent and perhaps breathe reasonably fresh air, as opposed to fumes coming from the radiator. I read somewhere recently that air pollution in the Raleigh-Durham area has surpassed that of New York City, which seems pretty incredible, but maybe there's more to that statistic. Don't go spreading any nasty rumors just yet.

In a couple hours my friend Myke will fly back to Chicago, though it feels like he already left. His visit ends when I've seen him the last time, not when he actually goes. When he came on Friday, he brought with him a collection of paintings on black canvas that he rolled up and kept in a long triangular box. He thumbtacked his work to the walls of record stores, and he introduced me to a friend of his, who told me a funny story about his friend selling a Range Rover to Gene Simmons. On Saturday a few of us sat on the lawn of the art museum and watched Nosferatu on the side of the building to music played by an orchestra behind us. I feel like I've talked and talked this weekend and I've been reminded that sometimes friends can be made rather quickly.

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Today I was towed for the fifth time in two months, this time with my mom's car. It was a three-and-a-half-hour ordeal, making my evening both really long and really short.