Quincy

 May 29, 2026

Fierce glut of dead-heading among the roses. Weeding, chopping of bamboo. My arms streamed blood from the thorns. 

There’s a hole in the porch big enough for a cat to squirm through. A tiny cat. 

B and her family have moved to Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho. From there you can spit into Canada. It’s clearly the remotest, most inconvenient place she could find without expatriation. 

Talked with the man who’s co-directing my little play at the Ruth Gordan Amphitheater in Quincy, MA. His co-director wanted to divide up five characters meant to be played by one person among five different actors, and he counted on me to put the kibosh on that, which I did.