dave raze "daveeeeed," i say, every time i see him. he's not french. not even fake french. it's just a thing that's become a thing. we'd been meaning to do something together forever, and finally i got him to come in and stomp and clap and sing a few verses of this insanely dark song i wrote with steven where the idea is to pass the baton and have a different singer pick up the narrative every verse or two. he nailed it. he talked about the itch to tour and the itch that comes from not shaving regularly after amputating a magnificent beard, and other things. i like that guy. he's got the kindest face. he's a good dave. 150525 ... raze i need to tell him about the dream i had where i was making my last stand against a horde of zombies, fighting them off at my old house, when he showed up with liquor and cocaine to turn an apocalyptic nightmare into a depraved, death-stained party. i think he'd get a kick out of that. 170728 ... unhinged (your imagination never sleeps does it?) 170729 ... raze i do get some pretty uninteresting, unimaginative dreams from time to time. usually i'll be doing some mundane thing indistinguishable from waking life. but my brain seems to have trained itself to send most of those into the trash now, using more of its resources to hold onto the stranger, more compelling things. 170730 ... tender_square more often than not, dave’s the kroger employee that wheels our weekly pickup order to the car. he’s a grumpy middle-aged man, which has endeared me to him. “hey, dave!” i greeted from the driver’s seat, turning toward the open trunk. “any coupons?” he grumbled. “nope.” “alright, get you packed up soon,” he said, bending to grab the plastic bags from the cart bins. “how’s your morning?” he didn’t say anything. i wasn’t sure if he heard me; dave doesn’t typically talk and i’m fairly certain my morning cheeriness chaps his ass. he’s a man who likes to speak as few words as possible, to get the job done as quickly as possible. michael feels a silent kinship with him. “i like that this sun is keeping the snow away,” dave started. “as long as that continues, it’s a good day.” “totally.” he’s incredibly efficient. “you’re all taken care of.” “thank you!” “have a great holiday,” he called, pressing the sensor for the trunk. “you too!” i said, catching him before the lid closed. i turned to michael. “ohmigod, i think i’m wearing dave down; i just got him to say more than two words to me!” “is this, like, a goal for you as an extrovert?” “hell yeah it is.” i put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot, shifted the gear into drive. “if i can get an introvert to open up to me, that feels like an accomplishment.” 211220 what's it to you? who go blather from