Sometimes when I'm at work and need to "clear my head," I'll go for a walk through midtown. The other day I was on one such walk when I spotted a pile of discarded CDs and party fliers in a lonely patch of weeds across from the Cheetah (I go there for the articles).
One way to know for sure that a demo CD is going to be awesome is if you find it half buried in mud and Arby's coupons outside an Atlanta strip club. So I dusted off my copy of "Thou Art Traficking Cocaine" and brought it back to play in my computer at work.
Well, now its stuck in there, making sandy grinding noises. I've been avoiding getting the IT guy involved, cause then I'll have to tell him the whole shameful and gross backstory -- "it's a perfectly honest mistake, you see, I found a compact disc on the side of the road and crammed it into this nice computer I don't deserve."
Now I'm going to have to belly up to the Apple "Genius Bar" and take my medicine. After they vacuum the georgia clay out of my computer and make me feel small, I'm going to go down to the lenox mall food court and eat a sad sack of Taco Bell cinnamon twists, occasionally looking up from my plastic tray for someone to be my friend.