April 29, 2021:
Father Serra contemplates holiness. His eyes are fixed humbly on the ground before him, his figure far too frail to accomplish imperialist genocide.
The cars are all new. New, and very large. Even the small cars are big. Their drivers struggle to back from shallow parking spaces, turning, struggling, turning, struggling more. I parked my 20-year-old Subaru down the block and walked.
My friend is late. I'm fine. I'm home, and happy, and enjoying chatting with you.