So last night, I brought a book to a bar. And I read it. And, lo, it was good. Some guy who was drunker than he initially appeared gave me this strange, halting spiel about having seen Stevie Wonder at the, uh, Wachovia Center (never quite sure which bank owns half of this damn town). I'm starting to think that he (the drunk, not Stevie) was unclear on the definition of "rap." I thought it was a sharp, striking motion, like "rap, rap, rapping at my chamber door."
Oh and I got me a shirt that bumps me a little further up the Kinsey scale. (The hotness)