A Sunday

First I wake up early to talk to my friend in France for a good hour. It’d been years.

Then I get ready to go to Beverly Hills.


I went back! It’s just. I can’t.

Then back home to get ready to go to South Central to drop off furniture. Maybe a little detour in Inglewood to jam? Not this time.

Back home, Spurs win. Potato salad. Design books. Dreams. Hope.

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