Can't seem to get it in gear. Doldrums. Must be the return of the hot weather.
Picked up some lumber and hardware for the back fence. Maybe frame it out tomorrow.
Unsuccessful in getting to the theatre. Or the restaurant. Mouth beat up. Bad.
Re-read Richard Bausch's "Hotel Macabre," which appeared this week in Narrative. Have an interesting anecdote about this story, but can't repeat it online without causing one of us a great deal of embarrassment.