So I go in and sit down. Woman mutters something about water pressure. Something about the weather. A Eucalyptus-mentholated blend and a quickie rinse. OK.
I feel guilty when I lock him in his crate. This guilt is why he’s not on the street. Yet. That, and he’s my only friend.
I didn’t do so well checking off items on last year’s edition of the life list. Aside from a few key moments, last year was pretty much a wasted year.
The studio on Patty Lane. Vienna, Va., January 2005.
My desire to dive deep — let’s just say I’m pulling back a bit on this one. It’s a little too close to the bone. And as the polly’s like to say, the situation’s still fluid.