Despite my love of strudels—immaculately buttered, impeccably sugared—I’m trying to lose weight, so I might just stay in the hot tub and relisten to Dang Olsen Dream Tape, and maybe some Beat Detectives while I’m at it. Afterwards, I might stroll over to my Tumblr if my eyes can handle it, then bits of ESPN, then shower #2, self-massage #2, bottle of water #4. I’m relaxing, skiing in the Swiss alps today, my stomach full of fika. Yeah, I’m hella sleepy in my Adidas, all snoozy and wobbly and half-awake; I’m in the perfect mindset for some Dang Olsen, because his music tries, amid an avalanche of New Age hogwash, to create nubbins in the space-time continuum, doorways hidden in the shrubs. The sunshine over the mountains, all blue, whispers a secret to me. I won the Powerball, and this is my living dream.
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