There’s K, dapper in a crisp green and blue plaid shirt and charcoal grey slacks, packing. I crack open an eye: “a little overdressed for nuclear warfare, aren’t you?”
This weekend I almost googled “radiation fall out” but raked some more instead.
And speaking of bombs, the Boston Marathon is today. We must’ve heard forty helicopters and dozens of sirens over the weekend. No, make that dozens of sirens on each of Saturday and Sunday. Practice, I guess. K thought each was an emergency. “Can’t be. Can’t be,” I kept saying.
I’m not going this year (we live pretty close to Heartbreak Hill). Instead, I plan to *write, walk the dog, write, play fetch with the dog, write, eat lunch. Repeat from * substituting supper on second round.
Finn wanted a quick game before Ks cab to the airport arrived (did I mention he’s going to Dalian, on Korea Bay?) but it was too early. It’s school vacation week and some of our neighbors will be sleeping in.
At the curb, I do my best Sean Spicer, “Say hello to Kim Young She!”