Saturday, 26 January 2002 | Green chicken feather

I pedaled around my part of Raleigh for the last five hours, acquiring a green bowling ball bag, a bell for my bike that resembles a beehive, and a necklace with a green chicken feather attached to it, along with a few other less spectacular items. Next I'm going to burn the roof of my mouth on lasagna because I'll be in a hurry, rushing to a friend's house to watch a documentary (rushing there only to sit down, heart still quick), up again as soon as it's over to make it to the club to hear Richard and Scott and Suran play. And an after party? Right now I hope not. Somehow I've managed to stuff my day full again; only the beginning was calm and paced and lazy, when I woke up to nothing (no alarm, no music, no phone), sat cross-legged on the couch and read Vietnam propaganda from 1961 with a bowl of Rice Krispies in my lap. The sun shone through the window like a spotlight on my cat, and the phone and house were noiseless. Damn, my time is up.