Saturday for dessert. fog and cold enough
to say it’s cold and foggy. hot toddy. he
seems to be in a pickle. I’d rather just
sting myself. I got the messenger to work.
not it’s some sort of hot Christmas, going to
New York for the vicious circle. I’ll sit in
the steam room, the sauna, the steam room.
drink Cajun coffee. a weekend of absolute
zero. the red button is a hit. I’m not sick
but I play one on teevee. it’s enough to
make one want to drive a thirty-year-old
good-for-nothing. this will be the year of the
book. more fog. pecan pie.
