The Truman Show

Benefit gig went off beautifully – I had far too many wines to be anywhere near a microphone, we danced in that manic way you dance when you’re so happy it almost hurts a little bit, the bands were brilliant, Sophie got adorable-drunk because people bought her art, the sound guy was an arrogant douche but I found BitchCop, raised almost two grand and we didn’t take any photographs.

Then we walked home, J told me a story in the gutter and we lay on the pebblecrete in my front yard laughing like we did that night so long ago when she bit somebody for putting their hand on the small of my back.

At one point during Rargo’s set we were twisting frantically, grinning at each other across a circle of dancers from almost every period of our lives and Max said “You two live like you’re on the Truman Show, except you’re the only ones who know it’s a book” and I had to agree. It’s a nice way to live, even if it borders on insanity/arrogance a lot of the time.


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