9:48pm, year ago today –

pandemic in its starting throws, and I get a wine shipment and pretend little Kerouac is my business partner doing inventory with me.  Still hard to believe it’s been a year.  A fucking YEAR.  But it has.  And tonight, I’m not pressuring self to write, just looking at this picture of my little beat, enjoying his smile and thoughts of us one day together in business – wine or publishing, media or marketing, creative….  After being in the Caddis room all day I’m a bit anxious for some reason before Monday, tomorrow.  And I hate that I’m like that now at my age… focus on the picture, Mikey. 

Getting a bit tired but not ready for bed.  Want another glass of sister’s Zin, watch news maybe, and just dismiss the reality of anything aside from this page.  Still hear someone’s voice from today, a lady who tasted with her four friends, asking me all these questions as if trying to put me on guard or in a defensive slant.  Those are the characters I trap, the ones I write, the ones that’ll always be mine in any way I choose on page.

More Zin.  Begin…