Intersection of St. Elmo's
As I was driving home, a line of low-flying clouds crept over downtown, like a row of buffalo marching past the fence line.My thighs hurt. I've been squatting over the boxes of fanzines spread out over the floor of my living room, sorting and reboxing them. The cat sits on top of a chair, gazing over the scene in consternation and wondering what became of his floor space.
Lately, several people have paused when I answer the phone, then after I said hello again, admitted they thought they were listening to an answering machine. There's that broadcast voice for you.
I got my settlement from the recording industry in the mail today. A check for $13.86 to reimburse me for the outlandish prices of CDs. Well. All better then.
