bluh

It must’ve been the summer of 2000. One evening during that long hot summer in Atlanta, I found myself in an elevator with Robert Anton Wilson. I didn’t say anything to him, as he seemed pretty tired. I was on my way from one party to another party in this particular hotel.

Seven years later, it’s interesting that this one random encounter is the thing I recall most fondly about that night. Time is perhaps the longest distance between then and now, and I like it that way.