I spent way, way too much time looking for my wacom pen this morning. Memories insisted that I'd had it this morning, so I dug through my desk, my couch, my large cardboard box full of packing peanuts, and found nothing. Memories lied. Vile things. The pen was found in yesterday's pants.

I tend to oscillate between social and antisocial, oftentimes scowling at sitting about and osmosing camaraderie with friends as a fiendish waste of time. I mean, my goodness, I could be drawing comics or working on some other world changing endeavor. Perspective is good some times. Especially when it leads to eating the best damn Cornish pasties on the planet.

It is late, and I have just mentioned food. My stomach rumbles with excitement, but anticipates disappointment. Dreams of past digestions calm its nerves for the moment, and remind me that Chino Bandido is a pretty amazing Chinese-Mexican restaurant that probably isn't in your neighborhood, either. Sweet and sour pork burrito with fried rice and cuban black beans. Yes.

-Tyrus Peace