I was reminded of this story today. I like it. A PIG AND A BAKED POTATO Choices. Everybody's got them. Even me. Me, the guy who so often found himself in jail, that he believed spades to be a viable skill for the betterment of one's life, and who cherished a nice cardboard box when the wind bit his bones more than a call from a friend. A guy who considered the wrapped cheese in the dumpster behind that shady old buffet to be a treasure only I could appreciate. "Only I." Looking back on things, I suppose that's an egocentric way of thinking. That only I understand this experience or that one. An egocentrism that I apparently choose daily. Starting to see what I mean? Choices. We all got them. If it had ever come down to me to choose who the savior of the world would be, a baked potato, or Lisa Westfall. I'd choose the potato. Lisa made me feel as if I had been surviving on nothing but Snickers and cigarettes for weeks. Sick to my fucking stomach. Oh, how I wi...