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In the weeds...

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Gloomy Inks


"My fuck," I groaned, sweating, "I'll never get out of the weeds."

I rolled over, blinking, and saw my lady looking at me. "You alright?" She asked.

"Yeah. Bad dream," The light of 3AM being way bright for me.

"Bad?" She as always had to fish for it.

"Work dream," I grunted.

I've never met a woman more supportive of my endevors, and she even backs me on the crazy ones. A rare and kind person I am lucky to have met. I have been working on my machine building quite a bit these days and I must admit, I haven't set up a machine in a few months.

"Was it one of your "I'll never catch up?" dreams?" She should be a therapist.

"How'd you know?" I asked.

Corection, she should have been a spy.

"I heard you have that one last week. A "MOTHERFUCKER!" woke me."

"Sorry," Said the Gloomy Man.

She put her hand on my face. "You need to tattoo. It's your passion."

"Baby, fuck those machines for right now," She added.

She was, as she most often is, right. So today I spent a while playing my upright bass, packed up my building supplies, and pulled out my now very dusty, cheap, shitty Harbor frieght box full of machines and began what turned into a tuning session. And a visit with old co-conspiritors. Got me to thinking about my clients passed.

So tomorrow I figure, what the Hell. Maybe I'll do a few.

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