Banana Jam

today was a fairly unique day. i think if anyone was the author of this one, it would have been Douglas Coupland. he would be able to make the normal seem so special.

he would write our lives in nuclear waste lines, curved around children's dreams and stuck onto the pages of rundown buildings.

i spent the day reading a new book that i'll finish before sunday: The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy, a voice in at least one American History Project song.

i took a long city bus ride to Wal-Mart, where the leech has two daughters, and they " Give! Give! "

it was apparently in my best interest to buy some slip-resistant shoes made of fake leather in a fake country by people who are fakely being exploited by a fake white board of directors with clean, smooth, silky, fake white faces.

after paying for only one Dr. Thunder, the machine spit out an extra for me.

this lone can now resides in my refridgerator.

i also won a free slice of pepperoni pizza from some kids soliciting something, just before The Man approached them and told them their actions were "In Direct Competition" to the university bookstore, which by the way is not even owned by UGA.

No shit?

i ate, smiled, and walked away.