No indie karaoke last night in the end, but apparently I'm not quite off the hook yet.

There's loads of stickers around the town advertising a band or website with the image of Myra Hindley, which seems a little weird; there's probably little shock value from that, considering I guess that most people here won't know about the Moors Murderers.

My feet have once again broken out in blisters, with extra blisters on top of those. You know, you'd think that I'd learn, but nooo. Today, I'm wearing chunky socks which seems to make walking bearable.

Panera Bread has wonderful hot chocolate.

Squirrels don't like having their picture taken.

I saw somebody coming out of University Massage yesterday. Ewwwwwwww.

I've only seen the UNC campus be so empty once before, and that was on the Fall Break. It's like a ghost town, albeit a ghost town under heavy construction. The fountain is still running, although I've resisted the temptation to run through it.

Singing A New Engand and Regret at the top of your voice while walking down the street is guaranteed to get you some odd looks.

It's going to be 40˚C on Tuesday. This will probably mean that Bonnie is going to put a price on my head, but I'm more concerned, right now, with how to survive the day itself. I think I might decamp to Southpoint and stay in the cool air of the shops and movie screens until the temperature dies down to something reasonable.