4:16pm: Emma playing upstairs, with dolls, having full and rich conversations. DIALOGUE.

4:17pm:  Wine time, soon.  The day slowed then it picked up again.  Need one more sale before month ends.  How do I get it….

4:18pm:  I ask Jackie if he spilled his Ginger Ale, he says “No I didn’t so shahdaaaaaahp…” In a New York or Chicago accent.  I know as his father I should be like, “Don’t you talk to me that way, young man!” Or something like that.  But I can’t stop fucking laughing.

4:19pm: Writing like this is something I don’t often do, as I hate colons.  But I remember that one student who did in my 1A class a few semesters ago and it stuck. Each minute its own narrative.

4:20:  Emma’s dialogue lines come down here and echo from the kitchen to my quarantine corner.  I smile, love seeing her happy and so in love with everything that she is.  I joke and say I’m useless to her, that I’m just an obsessed fan… a joke, but I see it as mobile truth.  I follow her, do what she says, and just admire like a fervent fan on a tour bus.

4:21:  Zin.  All I have.  No Chardonnay, no SB.  Should always have white wine in the house.  Why don’t I.