The further along today progressed, the worse it got. A social version of claustrophobia and there were no doors. Outside, people shuffled their feet to hurry past the cube that just seemed to be there as a road block. So instead I’ve given up to escape and just lie here and listen to William Elliott Whitmore.
(In my head, I’ve got this plot for a supernatural western and this song is the theme.)
William Elliott Whitmore — Not Feeling Any Pain
All the long introspective songs that tend to be the last of almost all of William Whitmore’s albums have been great but I think this one is the best. Not sure, because I do love Porchlight so much it’s almost silly.
William Elliott Whitmore — Lift My Jug.
I drink alone: but only a beer or two, or a small glass of whisky — I like how it taste. I’ve never gotten pissed drunk in the lonesome and I hope I never will. I’ve seen where that ends and it’s not pleasant. An evening of beer and alcohol requires people, good people even as I’m not the kind of person who can go in to a pub and just sit there. Friends and food and fun, without those lots of alcohol is rather pointless to me.
