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I’m sitting here again — watching TV, typing, half-listening to Shawn Ryan talk about leaks and influencer payouts meant to steer Americans in different directions.
Could it be true? Maybe. Who knows. It’s fun to wonder.
Simba’s behind me, stretched across my headrest, waiting for our nightly walk — patient as ever, wearing his little constellation harness like he knows it’s almost time.
He loves sitting by the fence, watching the neighborhood cats run by — king of the block in silence. His walk is peaceful for me too. Simple. Enjoyable.
Still can’t park my dad’s van or mine in our own driveway — we’re in our neighbor’s again for another night. Since the vans have merchandise, we can’t leave them in the street. Thankfully, she’s been kind about it.
Right now, the entrance to the driveway is just gravel and a big-ass yellow digging machine sitting there like it owns the place.
Didn’t sell much today. Didn’t really feel like going out and pushing it either. Why? ’Cause I just didn’t.
Sometimes — fuck the routine.
Pulled over earlier under the shade outside a carnicería — typed a bit on my laptop, sipping on some homemade, ground Kanyen coffee.
Now I’ll walk my orange cat, Simba, for his twenty-minute walk.
Thanks again to anyone who reads this shit.
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