Sleepless in December... (Ugh)

Shitty pun, but the reality is worse. Another night with minimal rest. This is killing me...

Elyse Perez
phoned at 4:00 AM, drunk and itchy as usual, but also sweet and sexy (as usual). I walked into the pitch-black living room with the phone and lay on the sofa with my eyes closed while EP brought me up-to-date. Girlfriends of Tex-Mex punkers, six-week-old kittens named Tallulah Bean (if my dead mind recalls correctly), "heavy twilight," the fallout from GK's suicide, Dixie Prix gigs involving tear gas jets applied to corneas, etc. She was chilled enough by 5:20 to hit the sheets, but my mind kept on churning. God, I'd give my right false Mick Ronson eyelash for eight hours of zzzzz-thyme...

TS

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