A murder happened in Kneeland. This is where my latest manuscript is set. The footage on the news is exactly how I imagined my setting to be. I've been to Kneeland all of once. I have no desire to return.
There is the promise of rain this weekend. It's a promise I hope is kept. I want it to wash away some things.
I had two wonderful conversations last night. A dinner with a friend, whose cable I fixed (very manly of me). A night-time phone call with a friend I miss having around. She and I talked of books, the dark nature of humans and art versus the artist. If all my conversations could be as good as the two I had tonight (and I am lucky whenever they occur), I would be a far happier person.
The end of the day can't come soon enough.
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