May 13, 2012

Long, drenching rain, a little gloomy unless one is a plant.

A man named Shane clearly had my cell phone number before I did. He still gets more calls than I do. I’ve convinced the bill collectors that it is no longer his number, but his family hangs on, one very old woman, maybe grandma, in particular, who sounds like she is ready to burst into tears when she says, “Is this Shane?,” and then flintily disappointed to be told it is, again, not.