At the Southern Festival of Books today I was accosted by a man who smelled so strongly of paint I thought I would pass out. It’s unnecessary to be pissed off by that, but damn, it made me mad, him being all funky and too close and aggressive and suffocating. I have issues.
Lots of folks had dogs with them. I was distracted.
One of the things I like best about Nashville are the hills around town that makes it seem like we live in an egg carton. So, I can stand at the state capitol, up on a hill and look down Charlotte Pike and see the hill with the ultramodern houses on it that sits just in back of my house.
I love the new Oxford American CD so much.
Eh.
Well, that’s it.
Tiny Cat Pants 