“Honest, your honor, I thought she was 16.”
Look! There’s weather today!
Antony wanted proof, locked as he is in his dark little office, too sick to go out for a cigarette, so I broke the lock on the trapdoor to the roof, took photographs and sent him a pictorial essay: on the treatise that the sky can be a blue colour in the city of Vancouver. It was deliciously warm up there, perfect for my bare feet.
Of course, since I was up there, a gray haze has been taking back the sky. I say we petition and have it thrown out.
Nicole and I are continuing Alastair‘s bathroom today. When we’re done it will be a pale ghost of butter yellow with a cheerful blue sky on the ceiling. It’s all Very! Spring! I’ll try to remember to take pictures. His shower curtain alone is worth the price of admission.
Yesterday Andrew met a man who’d never seen the ocean before. “Tourists took pictures of him, swimming fully clothed, just off the seawall.”
(Apparently it’s a holiday. Happy Guy-Onna-Stick Day).