07-24-04 - 11:18 p.m.
on the smoky side of the employee break-room, i sat beside seymour-of-the-garden-department while he ate a neatly packed lunch from a thermal bag, pretending to admire the flamboyant heart tattoo on his bicep.
who's wendy? i asked.
my girlfriend, he answered. he shot me an appreciative glance and pointed to the ink on his arm. that can always be colored in, he told me. red, blue, whatever.
yeah, well, whatever. asshole.