I remember the excruciating school task of writing a three-page term paper. But, oh, that feeling when I was done! I think I drive myself for that feeling of accomplishment.

You've been acting like Jesus owes you a favor, but he's a little smart for you to fool.

Places I've lived since then had to have some kind of uniqueness and character about them. And logically Key West, and then Down Island. So, all of that stuff sort of had it's roots in New Orleans and went crazy.

This morning I shot six holes in my freezer. I think I've got cabin fever.

Tonight I just need my guitar.

What would Pop-eye do in a tight spot like this?

My occupational hazard is my occupation's just not around.