DAY THREE

it's pretty mellow, strolling down camden high street. it's genuinely nice out and john, who've named gene after the character in wet hot american summer, decided to stay home because he has a meeting with the masons around two. so, ben and i are taking our time to make each other laugh and enjoy this 'alone' time as it comes so infrequent. it was really nice looking at all the amazing vintage stores. there are a million vintage clothing and record stores there as well as a tons of different eateries. yay! sounds great!!! not really. it's not so much an outdoor market as a swap meet or mall that happens to contain a little sunlight and a few older items. in all fairness, ben bought some awesome old men's magazines and i wanted all these records and jackets and pants but something was seriously off. then, i realized that every record was not on sire or rough trade or warner like it should be. all the covers were slightly incorrect and when i looked at the backs i realized most of these albums never existed outside of theis continent. i believed them mostly to be bootlegs. there were some good records and i eventually picked up a few. i came across a sandie shaw single cover of the smiths "hand in glove" and an awesome copy of the buzzcocks "everybody's happy nowadays." we kept walking through the ridiculous camden, stopping eventually at a pub to have a piss and a pint. it's a flawed logic really: we stop in pubs because we have to pee but we buy another pint we furthurs our necessity of flowing liquids out of us. it's nice having a pint at one p.m. in the UK because most of the pubs have these awesome huge windows that let in a revealing amount of daylight and it doesn't frighten in a way that reminds us that we are having a drink in the middle of the day. no, we are pretty happy about it and sit down to have a pint and do some drawings. i am pretty happy about what i drew in that bar. afterwards, we head back home on a bus and sit up top the double decker bus. i sing the smiths, ben asks me what i am singing, i tell him, and he says whatever i sing out here that he doesn't know he figures is either the smiths or morrissey. back at the hostel, we wait for gene and decide to go for indian food. two years ago, laurette and i picked up some amazing indian on brick lane so that's where we are headed. i begin to feel like real shit along the way, gassy, bloated, and i have yet to shit on the trip at this point so my body is starting to tell me something. it's a bit dodgey when we exit the train and walk to osbourne street where all the many indian places attempt to solicit you in there restaurant in many engaging ways. free drinks, etc. we end up in one that looks packed and aren't offered anything. i could give two shits and do. i shit all over that bathroom. i pee'd out of my ass for a good fiften, twenty minutes before even looking at the menu. back at the table, i am feeling slugish, tired, not hungry. i try to get something down, order water to which the guy gets angry so i change it to a Cobra, large indian beer. i really don't need the beer, the samosas are grossa, and the saag is decent. i fall asleep all the way home on the trains and get in bed around 930 and have a good sleep finally.