Sunday, 03 February 2002 | Collapsable baskets!

I was coasting down a hill on my bike when Martin asked me to turn around and come back, so I could witness it first-hand. He was looking down at the street at what looked like pieces of paper, and, wishing he could just tell me what it was, I begrudgingly began pedaling back up the hill. Out of breath and at the top, I looked at my feet and saw money—$19 of it, crumpled and obviously misplaced. Wait—I just had $19 in my pocket...oh. I don't know how it happens, how it works its way out of my pocket in one giant clump and then is dispersed like dandelion seeds without me noticing, but this isn't the first time. Is that where all my money goes, into the pockets of lucky pedestrians?

Also: Sat on my roof with a beer and a cat and watched the pink clouds turn gray. Vacuumed out my car but for some reason kept street maps of St. Louis and Los Angeles. Winced as my cat Leeches sprang up at the back of the chair, clawing at the hair that hadn't yet been saturated with dye. Went to a loud party with a loud band, the lead singer appearing only to mouth the words of his songs, because I couldn't hear any of the words at all. Decided my mom needs a bike for her birthday (which is tomorrow). Combed the flea market as the last few people packed up their goods and used my secret spy lens for the first time. Ended up buying a bowling clock, a small metal plaid plate with a chicken on it, two lanterns, and a blue bike (from the early 70s?) that has collapsible baskets on either side of the back tire. (Wait, maybe that's where all my money goes.) Rode a bike around the flea market parking lot with lanterns, a chicken plate, and a bowling clock in my baskets. Ate too many sour brite crawlers. Fell asleep while watching Brazil. But not in that order.