Weather: Dampening morning, hot breathed irracible Afternoon

A note to D. I am not angry, I had just had a hearty flogging by my hormones, happens, you oughta know.

The sun is high and the wind is snaking across the bay. All of the pollutants have been swept inland. Nothing but cerrulean skies and Pacific yawning. As dusk surrenders to dark we are drinking at Claude. Mr. White and Mr. Buck are drinking gin and tonics, the lovely MS is smoking outside, the pugilistic bartender is nursing a frown, I am with gentille Michelle, she is telling me about a temple in Hong Kong. Faces I know drift about, and suddenly I am feeling very J. Alfred Prufrock, coming and going, talking of Michael Angelo.

The moon is a half smile in the night, cigarettes are smoked, time passes.

Time passes and the city you knew like the back of your hand has taken on new dimensions and you chastise yourself for keeping your head down.

Somewhere in there you disappeared here, only to resurface a little older, a little colder and still wanting, and yet still happy on such a sapphire evening as this.