Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I look out the 8th floor window, and I see the 8th floor of the opposite building. Living here is easy, when you can go indoors, when you've got a girlfriend who puts up with a lot and a dog who loves you. I went out with my friend D tonight. She knows she's passed the California state bar. She knows it so well she can afford to be fatalistic, and she can afford to say "I'll just take it again" without having to say "If if have to..."

B says the nice thing about having separate bedrooms would be that nobody would have to wait for anybody to come to bed. But she'd miss me. I love B with all my heart. She says it's ok.

D and I went out, had a couple of beers, and talked about law school. We talked about why she was so busy, why I finished 12th bottom from the class, and what it means for me finding a job in a saturated market. We talked about her mom, her dad, her Frankie Sinatra, and then she left. I bought a slice of pizza for a homeless guy. I heard him ask the guy behind me for a cigarette right after.

B and I talk about if there's a rank thing in our building. Like if the 12th floor people feel superior to the 3rd floor people. I don't think so... I think it comes down to corner apartments. And views of the sound. The 3rd floor probably doesn't have much of a view. Neither does this 8th floor apartment, unless you stick your neck out. But then, you often have to stick your neck out before you'll be rewarded with much of anything. Including, it seems, a view.

That's why I dig W, because he's stuck his neck out.

I love our new p lace, but it's going to suck in January when I have to take the dog out to pee in the middle of a storm.

Horns honk, sirens blail, sometimes we hear gunshots. The fountain spits its water on the walk and our lives keep pushing forward.


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