I had Sox fever. I watched most of the last three games. I drove Andy crazy. Bush caved. People keep dying. Protests, complacency, side by side. It’s not three o’clock yet. I’m listening to Leonard Cohen siging “Bird on the Wire.” I want to see the DVD of “The Wizard of Oz.” I want to see “Good Night, and Good Luck.” I sort of want a different job. Work somewhere else, write. But then there’s the paycheck. Thinking about riding on the train, the Dawn Powell book I’m reading. I’m thinking that perhaps instead of going to the gym after work I will instead go liquor shopping. I still don’t have an ending to my book. The closest I’ve come so far: “Finally, he began to cry.”