Dear Diary,
Where am I? Somewhere out beyond the haze, an afternoon blitzed away. I took my guitar with me, the cheap-ass bitch-maker which Janie solemnly dubbed 'Lucy'. I call her (the guitar) Juicy Lucy. The strings are worth more than the half-size travellling guitar. I've played two impromptu gigs already. As t'other Classical guitarist said, "It's nice to have a ctural ambassador [from the east]". Aye. I'm wasted right now. Had a ... weird night. Emotions. Guitar. The Masters. All rolled into one, Stay the f- On the Flex, whatever you do,
Maxx.
