Fragments of last night add together and make for a decent evening. Stogies, walks in the rain, and the briefest segment of Firefly. Wine garnered from the kindness of good friends, while I mourned the coming of my utter penilessness. Talked with Kenny and John about books and the sudden return of what I call "Jersey Hands". I tend to gesture ( Read more... )

Given the somber, weighty gravity that laces the first few weeks of September, it is not out of the ordinary that everyone in this neck of the woods (New York is an hour away from Easton. Almost everyone has longtime friends and family who either work or live in the City) move through their days a little more vulnerable, a little more on edge. ( Read more... )