Pens and paper, pens and paper, pens and paper...
Morning sex. Of course. Sex before you get coffee, and some more later to celebrate. I carted a girl around West Philly on my trike, and we slowly got to the business of drinking coffee and buying a couple cheap mugs for me to drink coffee out of later. Brave girl. Trikes are serious business.
After that, I hung out with Gowa for a bit. She and Scott and the rest of the dudes are leaving on tour tomorrow. She's a full Shawnee, and she's fun to talk to. We had another round of coffee.
Fast forward to night time, and I smashed my front teeth in half on the trunk of a parked Mercedes. Amazingly, that's all that got hurt. Except that the trike is fucked. The fork bent back until the front wheel was hitting the frame. My teeth were definitely fucked. Fangs. I turned my teeth into fangs because I got drunk and crashed my trike.
I got to a punk show late because my buddy was playing in one of the bands. Substances were too readily available. I stepped over the line and then I started running. By the time I left with my buddy, I was barely there. I was six blocks from home, and we got nearly a mile off track. Then I smashed out big chunks of my teeth on the trunk of a Mercedes. I stood up and looked. Two fucked up bits of tooth sat there on the trunk. I picked them up and tossed them across the sidewalk. My buddy locked up the trike for me, and we walked back to my place.
The Trike is a good machine, but you can't take driving lessons from Carlo Rossi and expect to remain unscathed. I said goodnight and don't worry about it to my friend. Snake tooth will be better dealt with in the morning.