Last night was one of the most surreal nights of my life. After listening to a sleazy guy somehow relate the specific names of various potato species, Chaucer, the Parliament of Fowls, and St. Valentine's Day all in unsolicited attempt to make us balk at his Yale education (when really we JMU alumni just wanted to know if Kierkegaard was Swedish "because he has one of the line thingies in the O in his first name"), we left one of the most awkward barbecues ever. I was grateful because I assumed that the weirdness had reached its peak for the night.
Then, while waiting for the train at the Berwyn station, a homeless man felt me up.
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2 comments:
Tyler! I saw Be Your Own Pet the other night! I want to trade music with you!
That closing line made me just spit out water all over my keyboard at work and attract some pretty strange looks. Thanks. :)
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