Total of five legs in this picture.
Yesterday afternoon, the Madre y Padre de Jake drove their little green car from that thin stip of beach in Southern Maryland all the way to Brooklyn, or Mad Max Town if you are my very astute father. In a wonderful twist of fate, the Dead Skeletons, a band they just so happened to connect with in their travels through Iceland last summer, were playing here, just a few miles away. The promise of black and skulls and jewelry made from traded silver was just too great– they had to come.
It is with great happiness that I can report success in the realms of IPAs and tacos and balcony couches and onstage paintings purchased and Roy and Ed and dancing and crouching and city driving and the joy of two of the people I love most.
It is a regular slumber party in Crown Heights this morning; it is another rain day and I am the only one awake. Olive and I were couch sleepers last night.
Speaking of the lady, it has been a year since we brought her home, fighting and biting and punching and yowling in her little cardboard box that she would later bleed all over after she got her toe pad separated by the front door.