It always has; it always will.

“Hey David,” he called, “got a spare bottle of wine?”

“Sorry comrade,” I replied, “I’m out.”

“Looks like it’s time for a run to the liquor store,” Scott said.

“I reckon so,” I agreed.

“Let me know when you get back,” Scott concluded.

I got distracted by a long, delightful phone call that lasted almost two hours. When I returned to the communal space, I discovered Scott had purchased a case of cheap, red wine.

Listen, don’t let anyone tell you different: sloth pays.

And so it is that I got a nice, new Canon digital camera that provides unencrypted data. I used the camera’s tiny, wireless remote control to take my first photograph, one of those stupid, self-referential gimmicks that are a bane of contemporary aesthetics. Of course, I did so without reading the operating instructions, so it’s out of focus.

That’s fine. After a banal idea poorly executed, things can only get better.

Duct tape?! Are people in Wisconsin really that primitive?

Hedtke then interrogated her husband, and used scissors to encourage him to be honest. Although she told police she never intended to cut anyone, Mr. Hedtke needed fifteen stitches to repair his mangled penis after some presumably intense questioning. The brief news report didn’t mention what, if anything, the husband said. In any case, he clearly didn’t say the right thing.

The story didn’t seem strange to me; a friend told me a similar tales a few years ago. My friend B. reported that when her husband came home one day she knew he was having sex with someone else. She couldn’t explain how she knew, I guess it’s one of the many things women can intuit that men can’t begin to fathom. Despite increasingly vigorous inquiries, D. denied he was sleeping with anyone else. Or, to be more accurate, he did until B. had him pushed against a wall with a very sharp butcher’s knife pressing gently against his throat.

The blade proved to be an excellent aide-mémoire, and D. suddenly remembered that he wasn’t sexually monogamous after all. That’s what I call a close shave!

Personally, I think that sharp steel objects have no place in personal exchanges. But, since I’m surrounded by lovely, honest friends who communicate well, I would say that, wouldn’t I?

We talked for hours until, at five this morning, it was time to call it a night ... or maybe a morning.

“Would you give me your contact information” I asked.

“I enjoyed talking with you,” Sophia replied, “but I don’t think you want to know me; I’m a horrible pessimist.”

“After talking with you for hours, I know that,” I acknowledged, “and that’s one of the reasons I think we could be good friends. Pessimists have low expectations, no?”

Sophia laughed and gave me her card, and that was that.

“Why the big smile?” I asked.

“I was a bit depressed when I got here,” Colleen said, “but when I was walking down your alley I felt this huge gust of wind blow down the street. The blast sent a grimy, plastic bag soaring fifty meters into the air.”

Colleen smiled. I waited for the conclusion to her story, but she provided none.

“So why the big smile?” I repeated.

“I know this sounds improbable,” Colleen explained, “but just then I knew in my heart that I could soar just like that piece of trash.”

I knew the kind of bag she was talking about; the desperate homeless people use them in lieu of toilet paper. I was going to mention this, but instead decided to let Colleen enjoy her curious inspiration.