Sorry.

I have nothing to write this week. Why? Because I did not take notes. Why? Because I am too busy with my new job and am trying to find a way to manage my time.

But see this guy in this photo (which I did not take, by the way. It was taken by sanoi, one of my Flickr contacts)? Anyway, if I had to write a story about this picture, I would create a character around this old man. He would be a constant street presence, a cantankerous old man in my neighborhood – just like my old neighbor in Seattle, Mr. X – who would be out for his afternoon stroll, every day at…say, 4 o’clock.

And if at this hour he happened to see a motorcade go by, carrying Dick or Condi or George and those machine-gun bearing CIA agents, he would stand at the corner, flip them all off, and yell something shocking and profane at the top of his lungs that we all fantasize about saying when those overinflated politicians go by, but never do because we’re scared our asses would be hauled off to Gitmo, habeus corpus be damned! Instead, we allow them to assault our peace and quiet and remind us with their rude presence how our tax dollars are wasted every single time they need a ride somewhere.

If you can’t tell, I hate the motorcades in this town. HATE THEM.