Standing Outside a Broken Phonebooth With Money in My Hand

Today i spent fifteen minutes picking foxtails out of my socks. I went to Gilroy. I had to break for a line of quail on the way home. And then I wrote Janine an email apologizing for missing her wedding reception.

This is not the summer of my dreams. How is it different from last summer? Exactly one year ago:

just when the heat relented and sleeping without a puddle of perspiration became possible, the church bells rang and rang and rang

sunday morning in rome

Forty days until Washington D.C.