And this, ladies and gents, will be the end of my old-blog-reposting-binge.

This one is of particular significance to me, as it’s very much -about- me. As some know, (and perhaps, some don’t) I was diagnosed with Asperger’s as a child — around 8 or 9. It has made certain things of my life interesting. I can’t say it was ever truly severe, though, my mother worked with me extremely diligently to see that I was able to overcome most of its drawbacks and social shortcomings.

The one part of me that’s always baffled me is the portion which I’ve only been able to call, (most humourously) Vulcan. (And, maybe some Jedi for good measure — naturally, without the awesome accoutréments.)

So, without further explanation — a scene from a restaurant. Specifically, my last all-employee meeting in a restaurant at which I worked prior to my relocating to LA.

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Man, look at me re-post.

This was also from that old blog somewhere on the Interwebs. A piece of spontaneous fiction of which I’m still pretty fond. Little vignette, due to listening to ‘The Twilight Zone’ by Golden Earring far too much on repeat one evening. I’ve decided to share it with you here today.

Have fun.

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Found inside the wall of a recently demolished hostel, eastern Kosovo, 1999. The handwriting analysis returns no match on any INTERPOL database network. The paper is worn, the ink fading before disappearing completely in the light of the sun.

Spies should never fall in love.

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