I


  did some devilishly delightful secret web page creation over at Cocke Hall using the limited tools available to me. When you're used to Photoshop, Graphic Converter makes you want to scream. For the purpose of making Lady-of-the-Heart-esque graphics with pirated pictures of repulsive little angels, however, it worked reasonably well.

Rory was there too. He actually tried to convince me that the Windows 3.11 machines are better than the Macs. That would be about as easy as getting me to Witness some Jehovah.
There was a predictable clash between the MIDI smarm of the web pages I was mining and the Slayer I had playing on the CD-ROM drive.

Rain had been falling. The streets hissed like frying bacon as I pedaled home on my squeaky old bicycle.




I could be wrong but I don't love anyone I don't think.

Sometimes I feel like I'm a willing castaway. Sometimes I wonder what it would take to cross the water. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not happiest here. There're 60 channels, but nothing's on. There're millions of fish in the sea while I sit on a beach starving to death.

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