Summer Hours

It's summer hours around these parts. My brain cuts out early. Instead of editing the three or four real posts I have in the works, I've got my feet up. We're curled up on the couch with the old Taking of Pelham One Two Three on for a good taste of old New York ("Pull your pants up, Al, we're going downtown"), trying to decide which shoes to take on our upcoming vacation out of this city. I've bought shorts that are too short, and dresses that are too long. Vacation is a grand excuse to paint my toenails a pale shade of pink.

I'm digging out a suitcase from the back of the closet. Stacking up my Ishiguro, Lush Life, some lighter reading. Next week you'll see even less of me, and then suddenly I might disappear altogether. Or not. Either way, I'll send a postcard, bring you a souvenir. Let's go have some summer.

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