October 27, 2017

Somewhat to my surprise, a carton full of books, my books, arrives at the door. I open it, trembling with excitement. I think that the print is too pale, but then I think I think that just so the gods will turn their envy elsewhere.

One orange rose, like a distant sun, still hangs above the front garden.

We seem to have acquired an actual Asian actor, and a good one, so it is said, which allows us to dodge the whole white-person-playing-Asian issue. I think it’s a silly issue, but am, alas, not the only person in the world.