This morning I woke up in the cemetery. I'm not sure how I got there. Maybe it was a mixture of cheap whiskey and the thick t-shirt that kept me barely alive through the chilly night. But what I do remember is watching episodes of Afro Samurai with a stranger. I trust he treated me kindly, because I remember for a moment being in his warm bed, beneath a warm down comforter, being fed water, and having my hair brushed with his fingers. How I wound up resting against the tombstone of Abigail Harrow is beyond my knowledge.

Everything suddenly reeks of Vicks VapoRub and I'm nauseated.

I learned something at work yesterday. You cannot ignore something that doesn't exist in your life. I am not sure if that makes it any less difficult to ignore. I've got the blues, but I cannot figure out why. I've been screaming my lungs out about it since I woke up in the graveyard. If you must sing the blues, what better way than to holler them?