Andy and I will have a quiet dinner at Jack’s on Halsted this evening. It’s so slow in the office today. The saving grace is a conference call which has left Brandon and I to our own devices. Still, I want to leave. Work on the new draft is going slow. Perhaps I’m being too critical. Sometimes prose should just be functional, a vehicle for ideas; it doesn’t need to be beautiful. Beauty can be too distracting. I ought to remember that: what I’m trying to say, instead of nit-picking about how I’m saying it.