You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me… Lose Wheels.
My dog died.
My bike got stolen.
My life has degenerated into a country western song.
I’d cry in my beer, but PJ already wrote my name in it.
(Okay, that last part is pretty freakin’ cool. Time to break up the Pity Party.)
Hasta la vista, sadness. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.