Last night was one of those nights where anxiety kicked in. anxiety about going back to charleston. about getting sucked in to doing and feeling nothing again. about wasting my time. about treading water. those sorts of things, which are oh-so-easy to find yourself in the position of in the chucktown scene. I turned down dinner with my family in
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when you get back can we start an artist collective. like really?
got a good story to tell you about the village tavern and signs that the end is surely near.
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