Knock at the door, just now. Fancible Range Rover, without so much as a speck of mud in its heavy-tread tires, sitting in my driveway. I took Riley's collar in my hand and opened the door to find a somewhat roundish, friendly-looking, polite older man standing on my porch. Like his vehicle (and Paul's grandfather) he was very clean. His shirt ( Read more... )

My outgoing voicemail thinger explains that I am not around and encourages people to leave their messages as poetry. This means the messages I get are usually entertaining, though they're not necessarily poetic. That is, until last week, when I got the following message: "My name is Al! And everything's gonna be all right because Al is your pal ( Read more... )

Yesterday I tried to go to the library. I tried as hard as I could. I dressed up all nice and got in the car and stopped at the gas station to clean the windows (the window-sprayer dothingies don't work and never have, so in pollen season it's damn near dangerous every morning and come Monday I am dragging that car to the mechanic all GIVE ME ( Read more... )

Me: "I think I like this one better. The other one has too much blue in it, don't you think ( Read more... )