Today has just been one of those piss-ant days. Even being away from the house for a couple of hours didn't make much better.

Still, I could be dead. I'm not. As evidenced by my typing here.

Unsatisfying day, I guess would be the word.
And 16yo Jett Travolta died. Wow. This has been a rough week.

I've an urge to write a fic where Hutch writes and sings "Seem to Miss So Much" (rather than David Soul, lol) and it means something to Starsky. I can picture it, but words, they're lacking.