My strange little surroundings never fail to provide ample ammunition for my imagination. Tucson is now a ghost town, which appears to have tipped the clinically insane woman who lives beneath me into complete disrepair. She's now covered her entire front window (her only source of natural light) with layer after layer of foil, presumably in an attempt to turn her wretched little grief-
hovel into some sort of hot house. You know that absurd dialogue I held during my last trip to the local McDonalds? On that occasion the attendant transcribed my name as Robin. Classic. This time, however, I even tried to apply some kind of American twang to my voice, harshening the 'o' sound into more of an 'ah' sound, which turns my name notably middle-eastern: Raab. And yet, despite my efforts, the guy wrote "Brock". I'm going for a record next time.
hovel into some sort of hot house. You know that absurd dialogue I held during my last trip to the local McDonalds? On that occasion the attendant transcribed my name as Robin. Classic. This time, however, I even tried to apply some kind of American twang to my voice, harshening the 'o' sound into more of an 'ah' sound, which turns my name notably middle-eastern: Raab. And yet, despite my efforts, the guy wrote "Brock". I'm going for a record next time.
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