Plague of Angels

Home.
















Sweet.
















Home.

















Today I'm in Atlanta at the airport Sheraton. It has been a rather glamorous afternoon. I ate at a bar and grill and fell off of a skateboard. What more could a guy ask for? Back in LA Ally, Lilly and I went to an amazing sushi place. The hostess was a bit on the aggressive side though.
















Afterwards we went to The Roost, an amazing little dive bar. It was, according to Ally, where Elliot Smith wrote lyrics much of the time. It is slightly on the dark and depressing side, but after a few rum and gingers and about 17 bags of complimentary popcorn it didn't seem so bad at all.















We hung out with Ally's pals The Radar Brothers who are a really great band that is vastly under-appreciated (go buy their records). I ended up passing out on their couch, and waking up just in time for our flight to Dallas. Let it not be said that we don't travel in style. Farmer Dave:














I got a little bored so I decided to market my own brand of soap. It smells like leather and tomato juice.
















The show was pretty good, but it's all just a blur.















Tomorrow we have an early morning, a lame radio show and a drive to Chicago (not kidding) for a small club show. My own pessimism is wearing me down. Trying to think happy thoughts.