Screw the crystal meth stories. This is the real dirt….
“Every morning I would get up and find another piece of my identity on the pillow, in the wash basin, down the plughole. I asked myself: you want to wear a toupee? On the tennis court? I answered myself; what else could I do?”
Did I just write a blog post about tennis?
Sorry. Won’t happen again. Shoot me if you like.