So, Sunday morning, there sitting across from me, at the Colored Gentlemen's and their White Wive's and Mischling Children's non-scheduled Protestant Sunday breakfast-for-the-indigent table, was, beyond all hope, Friday, looking well. We took off walking after breakfast, through Brown's Addition, down the bluff, along Hangman Creek, to the back corner of the cemetery, which Friday had never seen before. He was duly impressed with the disused old cemetery, and touchingly anxious not to step on the "heads" of the graves, apologizing to the dead for walking on them. We spoke of many things, but most of death and the afterlife-if-there-is-one. Then, after a long walk back, we had sandwiches at the Brown's Addition Rosauer's Deli, and thence to the Palace, where a new and inexperienced concierge let Friday sign in and out simultaneously, and he stayed over, sleeping, eating, and watching television until Tuesday morning, what time we sneaked out successfully together and repaired to the Community Center to do our laundry. Then Friday went back to his sex-slave isolation in an un-air-conditioned Air-Stream, electricity-less trailer on the desolate far edge of Airway Heights where he has been all this while. I rather expect to see him in a few days, unless he dies out there: The weather forecast is for broiling hot the next week or so (105 degrees on Sunday!). Myself, I've made arrangements with Kristen to sleep in her back yard over the weekend. Kristen, by the way, is sick, of what she had thought to be a bladder infection, but which is something ominously worse; we'll learn what today....