Blind

I'm on my 44th episode of the Wire.

In 12 days. 

Christ.

My eyes feel like soft boiled eyes at this stage.

I think the show is in my DNA at this stage.

When I go the shop I'm re-upping the milk instead of buying it.

I'm fighting the urge to call everyone a motherfucker.

Selling drugs is starting to feeling like a legitimate way to make money.

I've learnt from Mr Prezbo that height and arm span are the same thing. That's pretty cool though.

I've learned that lawyerly pinstriped affectations and tweedy impertinence are frowned upon.

I've also learned that ducks should never drink whiskey.

All I want to eat is a laketrout sub and I haven't a clue what a laketrout sub is.

I know more about American politics, the American school system and Stevedores than anyone.

10-32 is police code for man with gun.

11-46 means death.

If you've a boss like Frank Sobotka he'll look after you.

Even though the show ended 12 years ago google maps tells me Baltimore is still a shit hole.

I've a Greek song from season 2 stuck in my head for the past week and it got annoying 6 days ago.

I'm mad to try rice-a-roni.

I want to know how to play dice.

I can't get my head around why the fuck anyone would want to join the cops.

The words "Sunday morning truce" make perfect sense to me. 

The next time I see someone asleep in a suit I'm going to cut their tie off.

I'd love to go on the piss with McNulty and The Bunk and I know it would probably kill me.

Bodie is still my favourite character even though he sells smack and killed his best friend.

If anyone asks you who Young Leak you should run away.

Pit Beef is another thing I want to try.

Oh and everyone should know someone like Proposition Joe.

Sigh.

Ok. May as well pop on episode 45.

Pray for me.