So picture the lovely fall day in Ann Arbor... the sky is blue, the air is brisk for no coat but too warm for a coat... the Tart, always erring on the side of fewer clothes, has her coat hanging from her backpack and is reading a book (Mockingjay, I think).
A little old man who looks marginally professorly says, "Oh, is that a good book?" as she passes.
The Tart, knowing she is overly reclusive, and loving the book, slows to tell him a little about it.
"Oh, I don't really read much."
pause
"I write."
AHA! So the Tart thinks she has found a kindred spirit and asks him what kind of writing he DOES.
He proceeds to pull a notebook out of his coat pocket. Two by three inches, I swear. He opens it and pulls out one of those little pencil stubs you can imagine GOING with said notebook. Then he OPENS the notebook to show me he does indeed WRITE in it... Weather. Things he bought. Things he needs.
Can you see me dying a little? I don't want to OFFEND this little old man, but that was NOT what I was thinking!
So anyway, I hope all of your Thursday delusions are more satisfactory, and if all else fails, you KNOW what Thursday is for!
GET NAKED! NOW!


