We ate a hearty breakfast.

{That canine does not belong to us, much as it looks otherwise.}


{Some things are very easy to get used to.}

There are few constants to my week, but one is a breakfast shared with my parents at a nearby café. Now that they are recently returned from New Orleans with store of happy moments filling them to point of bursting, we resume our late morning feast at favoured haunt and together make fools of ourselves as we fumble with the crossword in the paper and set to the business of import: the family catch-up. In the crescent city for a little over three weeks, I am happy they are home. They feasted on fried shrimp po’boys, tapped foot to the Loose Marbles, marvelled at the buoyancy and vigour of the Lindy Hop dancers, rubbed shoulders at the Factory with Mr Tom Waits and made good their promise and always intention of keeping me in the loop, one beeped message at a time received on my phone.

+ Thank you for all your recent zine orders of late. It means the world.

+ How it looks through the eyes of another.
+ We bid a fond adieu to guest blogging on Clog. (Thanks for having us.)