Interviews are hard

I just finished answering these interview questions about how I got started. I miss doing punk rock print zines in a house with thirteen people with funny-colored hair plus couch surfers where we regularly staple-gunned a cockroach to the wall as a warning to the others. I miss throwing legendary punk rock bacchanalias. Barely anyone who reads my journal is going to even know what I’m talking about, but I’m really missing old Cambodia today.

If I try to trade in my Town Car for something sporty and convertible, somebody please bitchslap me.