Another late night at the office. Why the flying fuck did I take this job again? Because you are broke with no opportunities? Yeah that's probably it, thanks inner-me.
God, so fucking tired! And its only duck-fucking Tuesday? Fuck!
Ah my feisty little hatchback, alone in a carpark inundated with German royalty. And yet I'll choose you every time sweety- Holy! Merc SL65! Are you fucking kidding me? Damn. That profile. Those arches ... Every time babe, you know it.
Still, my three-door turquoise jap strikes quite a pose in the gleaming sea of executive black and grey metal.
Homebound. Finally!
One good thing about driving home this late is that the roads are deserted. The other good thing is that I get to enjoy the stylings of the best RJ this side of FM 100.
Wes Malik of the Drivethru is fucking psychic. The dude peers into your soul and fills you up with all the chicken-soup goodness you need.
And tonight he's right on the money as well: Phil Collins is flying me to Paradise.
