When I came home I thought that we'd had a burglary, for a moment. It can be more frightening here than it is in L.A. I'm never sure whether more bad things happen here, or whether I notice more because it's a small place. Then I saw
Buffy's note on the counter. She hadn't even waited to speak to me. I worry. I need to speak to someone at that school to find out what's been going on.
I still haven't been over to Crawford Street. I've had a shipment of African Art, some very interesting small ebony carvings. Not really attractive, but they do have character. They'd make excellent conversation pieces.