It’s like butter It‘s like butter
Don’t worry Tom. Don’t worry Randy. Don’t worry Ron. When King County finally goes on-line in a few months and requires electronic filing, you’ll still need messengers to rush to the courthouse and deliver the attorney’s cell phone while the trial is in session, or her raincoat, or his favorite style of legal pad, jury instructions or a stack of 4' x 3' foam-core exhibits. And when the trial is over you’ll need a few messengers to schlep all that shit back to their office or at least one messenger to look for the umbrella that Jack A. Attorney left in the courtroom.
White-lining 6th Avenue gridlock. Lanes are tight. Teal 1992 Chevy Cavalier guy I see you. Oh yeah, I see you. You make me smile. The hair on my left arm knocks the ash off your girlfriend’s Newport, but she doesn’t even notice because she’s texting and applying more and more makeup.
How ya like me now?
You say you mean well, you don't know what you mean
Fucking ought to stay the hell away from things you know nothing about
--Elliott Smith
“everybody cares, everybody understands”
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