I am a bad student.
This is because I do not give a damn ’bout academi-ah. I am ready for the next thing. I am ready for the next thing. I am ready for the next thing.
I try to decide what to write a travel feature on in the great city of Chicago, Chicago, Chicago, with which I am not familiar and in which I do not enjoy an infinite amount of time to, as it were, travel. By trian, by train, by train goes me and thus goes my writing, assuming for the moment that it gets done, done, done.
From a multiplicity of ideas comes nadaboys and so I have a bit of this and a bit of that and Ora calls me a rock star, a moniker for which I am grateful, but to which I am not entirely faithful.
Kill, kill, kill-oh! I smile!