2009-04-16 - 12:59 a.m.
I am at Ransom's, which isn't an apt but a house in the suburbs, cookie cutter. I came to drop off something she had left, and she said, "And you came to get those books, right?"
I leave to get something to eat, and get this crap rice bowlish thing and she texts me I better not go to Sakura City, and in worrying about whether or not to lie I don't reply at all.
Upon my return an impromptu party had sprung up around her. She was lounging on the couch with others in a black bikini top. I pick up a guitar, which is a wonderful guitar. On the neck instead of frets there is all manner of things: a toy train, tiny mountains, hills, bumps dips and valleys and ridges, a million capos of every different shape, make, size, and tuning.
I played the strange guitar while people talked. I wondered if they would get annoyed at the racket, but they liked the music, much to my relief.
