It’s been raining all day, or since the beginning of time–I can’t remember.
I spent the morning filling out an inch-thick form.
I put on a suit and tie and went downtown for a meeting.
By the time the meeting was over, all the cabs in Manhattan had dissolved in the late-afternoon rain, leaving only a dirty yellow slick in the gutters.
When I finally got home, I was very, very wet.
For these reasons and others like them, I have consumed no art of any sort today, except for a couple of fugitive glances at the Teachout Museum and a few paragraphs of The Big Sleep gulped down in between bites of a midday sandwich that bore only a coincidental resemblance to the one I ordered.
That’s all I have to say. If you want to read something good, don’t waste any more time on me–go look at Maud’s prize-winning story instead.
See you tomorrow, if it stops raining. Maybe.