Word came this Sunday morning in my email from Friday in Pullman: "I made it." In my email today, Monday, was a desperate note that he was hitch-hiking back. (!) I had been sad, but I had also been relieved that he was to've been out of town for a couple of months. Damn it, that's what the gift of pot was for. It meant: Stay there.

Friday's the only one in the world I know ever to've read any of this blog. I showed him the FAQ Who is Friday? He said he was honored. He could read everything that I write here; but likely he won't. Maybe Phil in Germany [Howdy, Phil]. Otherwise, like a certain prince of Denmark, I am alone out here in Blogosphere, so far's I know. And solitude is, as we know, sometimes best society. I dump my inflammatory political opinions ("Disband the army!" "Abolish the FBI!") in the newspaper discussion blogs. Here is where I observe the infinitely instructive minutiae of life's passing, and where I try to make sense of it all.

I missed lunch at the Senior Center last Friday (no reference to the man here), and so missed a major public tantrum by Marcus. To hear him tell it, it was one ugly, obscene, outrageous confrontation, with lots of in- their-face finger-saluting. And I have to make nice with these people? He was even beastly to poor Holly who only wanted to fill him in (as she would have me, had I been there)on her upcoming trip to Herzog-Govina. Jeez.