I bought a ready-made quiche at the market Friday night. It's going to be a yummy breakfast today. I haven't had quiche in years.
The CDs stacked by the top steps fell down.
Today I'll be looking at a New York guide book to see if there's anything I want to do there next month. My husband commented that he was feeling some internal pressure to meet with people while there. I told him he could do that and I'd stay at the hotel to read and write. He responded that I could do that at home anytime. Um, yes, but how often could I say I was writing in New York?
Last night we saw William Eggleston in the Real World. He's a dreamy sort of fellow who is certainly his own person. I think someone like Michael Almereyda was perfect for making it. Only a friend like him could get that kind of access to Eggleston.
