Jessie's party was a mess in all the good ways. Brad and Clarko set up a photo booth in Brad's room, which means that for the second weekend in a row I essentially handed out future blackmail opportunities to everyone in attendance. Why am I such a photo booth whore? And why isn't that on a t-shirt?
I'm meeting Blazer downtown to see the new James Bond movie at eleven. I'll probably get soft pretzel bites. And cheese dipping sauce.
Deduct another mile.
And a half.