Monks and Monkeys

Another interesting evening this past Thursday with random middle-aged Newf, who has been to Rio for Carnivale, and now sometimes regrets marriage. All of which is fine, of course, but stuff like that, combined with hungover Fridays in which work seems ridiculous amidst the sketchy haze of thoughts and props left on your floor and 12 hours of rest are required and everything screams escape while the hours tick by via Cantona highlights and KFC.

Already, too. Two months since the return, it seems so long since the travels, but that's because two months is a long time. You know?

Time to roll out, with dreams of orange-clad monks and ping pong beer and what a real departure might feel like...