And such is done to their wood with an ax,

muggy.
that's the term for the air here.
suckie.
that's the term for the environment here.
hate in my heart, ya'll...
connecticut gets no love from me.
traffic, griminess, 'hood 'tards, fakeholes, meatsticks, and sleestaks...

however,
the pizza at 'The Spot' was doooooooooooope.
(for those of you unaware of the finer points of new haven's Wooster Street,
a.k.a. little sicily, The Spot is pepe's pizza's original location.
same exact world's best tomato pie, with no wait.)
hit 'em up, and tell Gary B. that Albie sent ya.......
and if you're vegan, make sure to tell 'em 'NO GRATED',
or its feet cheese powdered all up on it.
you've been warned.
holly actually came and hung out, too, for that bangin' pizza,
and, for a little bit, in old lyme.

i saw my ol' man for a little minute.
more of that on sunday.
i also saw eric merrill riding his bike in a minty green body suit.
aerodynamic, ya'll.
time is a weird thing.
seeing dudes you used to know, is also a weird thing.
a head nod was exchanged.
fair trade acknowledgement.
word.
five years on, my time in new hampshire has only made me feel even further away from people who used to be such a part of my old life....
living somewhere else is just a side-effect of being someone else.
anybody out there remember 'crucial al'?.
becoming the better you comes first,
then becoming better at being follows close behind,
then,
wherever you end up,even if it's back where you started,
it's all new again.
i am a stranger in a familiar place.
vanilla sky travel atlas, volume one.
deja vu as thunder-bringing barbarian reminder.
just be dope,
even if you balls-deep in doo-doo butter.
further proof that fun is how you make it, not where you do.....

i am a woodsly spirit.
i am a woodpile-hiding ninja.
i am a combustion hazard.
i spit hot fire.

breaking hearts, burning bridges.
if ever a clever catchphrase applied to a specific time and place, ya'll, it's here and now.
it's kind of how i make my moves, from manchester to madison to milford.

dear connecticut,
i do not miss you.
i will not.
save your weak-sauce for the wet-nap waterbabies,
and the grim grey ghosts you call your peoples.
i am leaving you tomorrow.
again.
do-overs never work.
love,
albie.

make some fun for me today, wherever you are.
all the way up, past ten,
to ELEVEN.
as for me, i'll be watching wistful wedding wildness.
...in rhode island.
how, NOT where.
you better believe it.