I've decided that it must be dreadfully boring for you to read all about this ceaseless drama of my family life in Philadelphia. I try to keep it out of here mostly because it would consume this little place where I write to you.

Today:

I was driving to work with the heat aimed at my feet and saw a woman touching her face gently. maybe she was tired and rubbing her eye, but it seemed like she was fascinated with her own young skin, the way one closes her eyes to eat the only piece of chocolate.