Then you must speak of one that loved not wisely

but too well.

Handy Carbona
25 August 1979
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  • krabumple@livejournal.com
Toddling art collector, cigar smokin' asshole, sleepy guy the rest of the time. I get up in the mornings, I sleep at night, and rarely go to bars. Boring when you're a teetotaler. So, I'm living up to other's descriptions of me- an elderly asian man in a young man's body.
I paint, but I take it for what it is for me- a hobby. I like to play solitaire and take care of my fish and bonsai trees. I love Hemingway and Cuban jazz. I can roast my own coffee and do a small number of intresting parlour tricks.

It's the dim hope of finding that proof that's kept us in this car, or one very much like it for more nights than I care to remember. Driving hundreds, if not thousands of miles through neighborhoods, cities and towns where people are raising families and buying homes and playing with their kids and their dogs, and, in short, living their lives.. While we, we-- we just keep driving.