ITMND
The man who lives in the apartment next to me is this old black guy of indeterminate nationality. He mops the floors once a week with straight ammonia, and sometimes he sticks incense in the doorframe, but the building still smells like shit.
But this weekend there was an envelope for him in the entryway from the ASCAP, or American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers.
Just saying, when you start noticing that this diary has become some Finding Forrester shit, it’s because it turns out that long forgotten genius who changed music forever is living next door to me, looking like a homeless man, and has decided to take me on as his pupil in one last act of greatness.