The watch that my dad gave me is sitting on the desk next to me. It’s so big, and it’s still not working.

There’s a tiny can of Sprite, empty, sitting next to my speaker. I got a coffee from Beans & Brews, a local place. It’s creamed and sugared. They have a drive through. The guy in the window gave me a treat for my dog. It’s as big as his head. It’s probably going to give him an upset stomach. I had to throw most of it away, but he was so excited for it that I had to give him some.

I’ve got like twenty minutes left of the True Detective Season 2 finale. As I stated on Twitter, I still have very little idea of what is actually going on. I know that Collin Farrell and Vince Vaughan’s characters have turned out looking like best friends, busting into some Russian executive lodging, lobbing tear gas grenades, and going full auto on those communists.

This season has turned out to be very action packed. I have a feeling that Vince Vaughan’s character is going to die. Collin Farrell’s character almost killed him. Vince Vaughan’s character’s wife is going to be waiting for him in Equador (or somewhere) wearing a white dress. Vince Vaughan’s character is supposed to come up wearing a white suit with a rose in the pocket.

So, yeah, like I said, one of them is probably going to die.

My sister is upstairs with her baby. My mom is not home. I’m living in my parents’ basement. I haven’t greeted my sister yet even though she has been here for like twenty minutes now. I’ve only held the baby once since I’ve been here, and I’ve been here for almost a month now. My wife’s and my place is supposed to be opening on the first, if all goes well. If all does not go well, then it will be opening around the seventh. We already bought a couch. It cost us something like a thousand dollars. Our salesman was really good. He’s a writer as well. He has a book out called Decembers. I mean, I think that he’s trying to get it published. He told me that he met Steven King’s wife, and she told him that Steven had thrown the manuscript for ‘It’ in the trash, and that she had fished it out and gotten it published.

The salesman wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but as we were checking out he mentioned his wife. I asked him about his ring, and he told me that he couldn’t wear it anymore because of all the weight that he’s gained. I told him to keep throwing his manuscripts away. I think that he understood the joke, but he might have assumed that I was telling him that his writing is trash. It doesn’t matter. I don’t know whether or not he’s good. He was telling me the concept of most of his novels. I told him that I’m a poetic prose writer, and that I write things about my life. I told him that I’d probably write about the moment that we were having together, and here I am now fulfilling my prediction. I’ll probably write about it more elsewhere as well. It’s going to pepper my scattered manuscript until I have forgotten about it or it has no influence anymore on me.

I’m expecting a call from him some time on the first, asking me when a good time to deliver the couch will be. I still haven’t gotten in touch with the property, asking when our space will be open. I’m a procrastinator.