Just a hang-up call and the quiet breathing of our Persian we call Cajun on a Wednesday

This morning, the air is so cold it reminds me of fly-fishing as a girl in upstate New York. Sometimes I still dream about the salmon runs up there, the sensation of icy water up to my chest and these huge, 2-3 foot long dying salmon bumping against my legs like decaying sharks.

I keep dressing for the weather I want, not the weather I have. But my lipstick is in season. These small skirmish victories, you know.