The Living Beheaded

I hung out with the Lacombite last night at some invitation-only art opening. After that, we went to a bar with an outdoor terrace and freezed our asses off looking at the twinkling lights of the Pompidou. Night ended 6 hours later, when I crammed a giant hamburger crepe into pie-hole and scrambled off to bed. Now, after another intoxicated night at Voin's, where a wig could give you the upper edge on the 2005 Chewbacca awards, am a little sick, fed up with not working on project at all, and wittering precious early morning hours by reading many different friendster profiles. I have nothing to show for myself but a head full of unwashed hair that's marching rank and file with the Living Beheaded.