'cause ladies from the west got game.

Two disturbing things happened today. The first was the realization that with all of the writing and reading I've been doing for my internship, I haven't picked up a real, live novel since Vassar let out for the summer. (Suggestions? Comment me.) The second was what I found my ten-year-old brother doing when I arrived back home this afternoon: pretending to smoke five fake cigarettes at once, which he had carefully constructed out of rolled-up colored paper (white for the tiny cylinder, red and orange for its fire tip). He had also created a matching rectangular box for the cigarettes, which read "Cigarettes" across the front in crayon. He then told me he was just heading upstairs to watch Winnie the Pooh. I worry he's been renting too many black and white movies. He's a big fan of Bogart.

Bad boy, Humphrey.

Nora and I tattooed vulgar phrases on each other's arms at Nick's the other night. I had to wash all of them off except this one:

On Saturday we're going to check out our first apartment. I'm really getting into this house-hunting business. The one we're going to see this weekend is near everything we need for an optimal quality of life: friends, a sushi boat spot, and our favorite park.

Nora and gatorade, sittin' (by) a tree.

No comments: