I woke up this morning still asleep. After driving James to school I couldn't figure out what to do with myself and I couldn't imagine coming to work before 8. I ended up at Flav's in Rockport reading Soviet Short Stories and drinking coffee. Near the end a man approachde me at the counter, examined my book and in a round-a-bout manner told me that he had written two short stories as part of a novel and would I read them for him. I told him sure, why not, he could mail them to me. But he was thinking I would come spend the morning with him in his gallery around the corner and read them there. I told him where work, but not my name.

The net across the street at the store has come down, and there's a boat in the middle of the court. Is that the kind of summer it is going to be?