i just delivered a package to a man whose name is honestly john hancock. pardon moi, but that rules.

in other news, i was at the morgan stanly dean witter building depositing some shit for my boss earlier. i was waiting for the elevator when this balding guy in a suit with two briefcases walked towards me to wait for the elevator as well. the banter was as follows:

him: hey how you-

me: yaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnn

him: -doin? tired huh?

me: (nod)

him: haha...man it's a beautiful day out there.

me: i agree.

him: gotta get outta this office. i wanna go play.

me: no kiddin. yaaaaaaawwwwwwwwnnnnnnnn.

(enter elevator)

him: so why you so tired?

me: eh, my band's been playin every night and i got school and work and it's catchin up to me.

him: you play in a band?

me: yea.

him: what are you called?

me: thee six string samurais.

him: get out of here! i've heard of you!

me: what?

him: yea, my buddy saw you guys. he said you were amazing.

me: haha...wow.

him: where do you guys play?

me: saturday at waldens, sunday at deux gros nez, monday at zephyr's, tuesday at the jazz club, thursday at esoteric.

him: man! i gotta come check you guys out! it's acoustic stuff right? my buddy says it was like rock.

(exit elevator)

me: well, we call it 'sex, drugs, and easy listening adult contemporary intergalactic bittersweet folk rock.'

him: (laughs way too hard for way too long)

me: yea...

him: well i'll be by to see you guys!

me: rad.

i dunno about all this man...it's gettin creepy.

rock the parcel.

uh huh.

word.