Soaking up the wi-fi at the tea joint once again, Yours Truly their sole squatter.
This just in: heard from a photo pal moments ago that someone I know lost his leg a month ago due to a bad motorcycle twist and turn of fate.
Assessment: motorcycles = unfreakinnecessary.
Did a gig for an ad agency in Rochester about an hour ago, another hurricane-related photo op, this time with trucks . . . and cheese. Asked one of the drivers very diplomatically if the evacuees relocated to Atlanta knew to expect 38K pounds of cheese. Where were the crackers. The wine. Wished him a safe drive and noted that there were no silver naked ladies (cue Westerberg) on his mudflaps. Not a one.
The tea house girls are playing The Sundays and what a reeling and dragging back to the past this is right now.
Time to edit, to slice, dice, crop, invoice, muse.

Love's directive.