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Wednesday, November 16, 216; 1:37 p.m.
I’m tired. I’m hungover and my brother isn’t speaking to me at the moment. Alas,
Into the great beyond, we venture!
I could have boated. I could have flown, but oh no, your intrepid adventurer, the one and only Mr. Frank Vines has decided to see the even more-Northeast by bus. I’m going to travel in the fashion of my ancestors who decided trains were lame, because honestly, aren’t they?
I haven’t left the city in months and I haven’t been home since I was seventeen, so, if nothing else, I’ll get some cool photos and meet the colorful locals that I was supposed to become best friends with. C’est la vie.
UPDATE: Wednesday, November 16, 216; 5:54 p.m.
Now, see; that’s what you write when you’re trying to be fucking plucky. I’m talking, like, Pepper Ann plucky. No, wait, that’s not who I’m thinking of. Who’s the girl with red hair and freckles and like, she mops or some shit by rollerskating with brushes tied to her shoes. She has freckles…probably an orphan situation going on?
(I just googled and you can’t tell cause that’s not how writing works but it was Pippy f-ing Longstocking). Thanks for NO HELP AT ALL, ya jerks!
But back to my point, my ferociously important point: I ain’t plucky, and neither is Carlisle, ME (that means Maine) if you didn’t know. In fact, I don’t think anyone in Carlisle would have any sort of a type of clue as to what you could be possibly referring to when thou dost useth thine word “plucky.”
I’m not saying you’d get some hill-billy (hillbilly?) “Now that’s some sort of city talk” bull, but if you’ve been to Carlisle, you’ll understand why we don’t use those sorts of words.
And by “me,” I guess I mean “them.” I realize I look amazing youthful [see below] but ten years is a long time…especially when you factor in what a seaside climate can do to hardwood floors. Wear and tear is real, you guys.
But I’m throwing all that to the wind. And why? Is it cause I got fired? Cause I’m quote, un-quote “horribly alone?” Because of the semi-creepy letter I received in the mail? I say Nay to all of this. I say Hay even, and that’s for horses.
TBH, I’m going to try to conk out for most of this bus ride, but when I wake, I’ll be sure to regale you with the details. Until then, stay frosty.
P.S. – Think of a better sign off than “Stay Frosty.” I think it’s stoopid and there’s probably some copyright infringement going on there.
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