It is my DAY OFF and I'm here at the coffee shop, working on my screenplay and taking StripperWeb breaks from time to time. There is a live pianist, some ugly old man with nappy white hair. He is playing and I happen to be sitting in front of him (I was here before he was). Suddenly out of nowhere, he just finished a song and looked straight at me with a meaningful, somewhat disgusted look and loudly announced, "That was dedicated to my dermatologist."
It took me a second to realize he's probably talking about the scab on my upper lip which is a healing cold sore. I put a little concealer on it before I left the house, but it's probably worn off. Still, fuck it, I'm not at work and excuse me for not being made-up like a movie star when I come to the fucking coffee shop.
WTF is wrong with people? I hate Los Angeles.
Now the stupid dick is singing. I wish I could think of a snappy insulting retort about his bad singing. Maybe I should wait until he finishes the next song and go, "Guess that one's not dedicated to your voice teacher, huh?"


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I believe you Dottie and you have my support
I believe you Dottie and you have my support 
I live here in....Del-A-Where.... The state of tax free shopping...

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