Not bad thanks, yourself?

So. Collected the author copies of my novel hot off the press on Friday. Author copies. Heh. Boys acted putridly, running around and shouting and showing off and not letting me think. Chucked the shits at boys. They cried. Went home. Burst into tears. Rang the mister....

Fair weather? Foul

The wind, in great and consistent gusts, is hot and drying. It carries dust which fills my lungs. My breaths are shallow, my sneezes many. I try not to rub my eyes, but they are bloodshot (and match my bruised, grazed skin). The dust is a haze down Goodwood Road and...