Cold weather. Missed two calls from Colin. He left
messages about things I need to do. Didn't do them. Didn't return his
calls. What the hell. Also need to answer Sid's letter. Send him the
recovered drawings. Next week.
I'm sitting on the back porch writing this. Sun going down on the meadow.
A glass of sherry. Bread and cheese.
On the table beside me: Caen's Baghdad: 1951. A source of unexpected surprises.
Evocative of The City. Like Elmer Bischoff's splendidly green-lit Blues Singer.
Also beside me: a postcard from Tina. On the front: Renoir's Girl
Reading. The book held close to her face. Absorbed.