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Under a Bridge
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It was a nice weekend, apart from having a cat jump on my head at 4:00 a.m. Saturday night.

On Saturday I finished writing my story notes for Hart & Boot & Other Stories, and made some small amount of progress on planning the last two-thirds of the Bridge novel. (Really, though, I should just write the thing.) We ate fajitas and drank mimosas and watched television. Nice night.

Today, after sleeping in until about noon, Heather and I actually managed to leave the house and go for a long walk in the park in Trestle Glen. Being out beside a creek was immensely refreshing, and the weather was gorgeous today, Indian summer in full splendor. The neatest thing was being by the creek far, far below a high arcing overpass, and seeing the graffiti on the underside, which must have required some serious feats of climbing on the part of the artists. The overpass is high enough up that a fall would mean pretty much certain death. I'll try to take some photos next time we go. Sure, tagging the underside of an overpass is a pretty stupid thing to do, but part of me admires the chutzpah.



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