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The one with the trench-coated executive waiting on a bench for his commuter train, smiling over his laptop computer, the line of copy beneath his image reading: Now You Are Free! You hear the old music now and you think it reminds you of how wondrous it all was back then, but no, it was not that way at all, it was a lousy and lonely time and the music was the thing, the only thing that got you through it, your only source of grace. 
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Boxthorn Blush of late afternoon light - tea by the open window. Later, a little Saumur with the evening news? Secret life of cut-rate sovereignty. She actually said to those assembled, “Dashes are my textual trademark.” Fine, but keep the fly from the lip of the milk carton. Tough to say where it’s all going but chances are it will be tougher to celebrate when we get there. ***
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