30 October 2005 (yesterday) (tomorrow)

Olga woke me up by popping a fresh piece of pineapple in my mouth; she had made me the most marvelous breakfast.   Her cockatiel Gulliver sat on my head for about five minutes; I sat frozen and hunched over so he would stay there.

We walked around Red Hook, and it reminded me of walking around Red Hook with Wendy or Beatrice, and it occurred to me how boring Red Hook is if you're not drinking in a bar or taking photographs.

We drove me to Carroll Gardens and we drank a beer outside with the Sunday Times before us.  Bob Ooghe walked by on the sidewalk and Olga pointed him out; soon he was sitting and chatting with us over beer and tomato juice as the sun guttered over the dark rooftops of Smith Street.

Bob was nice enough to invite us back over to my old apartment for some hot apple cider; he had changed the recipe and added black cherries and blood oranges (the latter a contribution from Wendy).

Olga and I went back over to my place.  I told her I was in a good mood, I was.   Around eight in the evening, she left and I went to work.