Some days I feel the urge to write, but not really the inspiration.

Heck, I don’t even have any notes from Saturday.

I guess my mother and I went to the 32nd Street Farmer’s Market, and bought bread and salad greens.

I guess I fixed the corruption.

I guess we went to the matinee of Pinter’s Betrayal, at the Everyman.

I guess my brother, my mother, my brother’s friend Heather and I went to dinner at the Zodiac.

I guess I finally managed to get to bed before midnight, and slept a good nine hours.

But there’s really no telling, not without any notes. All hearsay, really. But it’ll have to do, for now.