Daily Theory on Daily Theory

Mildred,
Still a little depressed and concerned over Andre running back to New Orleans, I went to the Target in Manhattan Beach to browse. Target has a way of making me less depressed for some reason. Something about the way the Music and Electronics section is laid out in all its neon glory tends to stimulate undiscovered endorphins.

Coming out of the parking lot, the last thing I recall is a blow dart to the neck and boom! –32 hours later I’m on the streets of Tokyo smelling like soiled linen from TGI Fridays. Apart for the glitzy promise of consumerism, the only sure fire way to get out of any depressive funk is a good kick to the head (or in my case a blow dart to the neck).

I awoke from my drugged stupor in some back alley right off the main Tokyo drag. Though my wallet was gone, a picture of resigned FEMA director, Michael Brown was sewn into the front pleat of my trousers. What the hell kind of message is that? I can’t for the life of me imagine the connection. Maybe you can call around?

Stumbling the main drag I managed to get to a pay phone and call an old colleague from the KGB. Vlad was kind enough to take me to the hospital for analysis. According to the puzzled doctors no harm done - just a little scar to the back of the neck.. Though I’m feeling a little like George Jefferson’s wife (i.e. Weezy), I can’t complain. Soon as I fill the Vicadin prescription from the hospital I’m out of here. I’ll call you when I’m back in Los Angeles.

Cash