I read the “Missed Connections” section of the local weekly. That’s where hipsters express their undying lust through cryptic messages featuring bar names, band names and clothing labels. Often I imagine one of the less detailed and more passionate entries is about me. “Beautiful Girl Downtown: I see you every day and hope that someday you will see me.” It’s a lovely notice and it makes me want to thank whoever wrote it. Even though it’s not for me, I can imagine it is. For a moment I can feel that adrenaline rush of being wanted. I’m not that desperate. Really.



Zombies are in the basement again. So are the shotgun shells, so that’s sort of a problem, but Tony thinks he left a few in the hall closet. If worst comes to worst we can always pull out the old machete, but that makes such a mess. I have clean laundry down there and the kids still need to be put to bed. Lord knows they won’t sleep until they find out what happens, just so they have a story to tell at school tomorrow. I tell you Marie, Tony needs that promotion. Then we can move to a better neighborhood.