Now that we can look out the window.

Jules et Jim me détruit.

Tim moved into my apartment and we cleared the spare room.
It's now half a dining room and half Tim's painting studio.
Below is a garden that the Rzonca's cultivate.
There are many sorrowful kitties living in the courtyard.

What I did on my Saturday vacation.

I went to the water today and started playing with rocks. Then I found some heavy nasty wood and started playing with it too. Now I'm bruised and fatigued, but I think I found a new hobby. Oh, and I also came across a cat. Here are some pictures.






THE CAT

I also want to mention that I finally viewed Truffaut's
Small Change. I thought it was terrific.

Should children have the right to vote?

Let cake be.

"Mohair"

"Mohair"

All real-estate is valuable, including this suit. Maria tells me it is not real estate, this gorgeous Mohair three-piece, but I contend that, yes: it is real estate. It is a sheath and I am its sword. Besides, I truly love this suit: my father never owned a suit like this.

Maria came up with the box of baking soda and my newspaper, The Wall Street Journal. This is my preferred paper, though naturally I read everything within reach. I am a businessman in the fullest sense - that is to say, I take pleasure in life's great commerce - and distrust ideologues. Growing up, my special phrase was, "Just the facts, ma'am," as they say on television. The facts suit me fine.

Maria makes certain to point out when I have become encumbered by the rungs and railing-bars of routine, as she says, rolling her R's. Of course, Maria is a poet—though not as "all women are poets"—but, as she likes to say, as a woman with a difference.

Moments of difference interest me greatly, though as I say, almost colloquially, all real-estate is valuable. What I mean is, I'm happy to be here, among such good company. Maria came up with the baking soda and the Journal, which she handed to me and then she leaned on the counter like a woman in a painting. While she appeared to turn over the thoughts in her mind, Maria touched the silver cross that dangles above her bosom from a brown necklace. When she does this, my next thought is always: vampires.

Even logic has its limits.