this week i

took a few photos of my father.  mr. henna tail made an appearance.  we on the american east coast never unlatch our front windows

wonder when the first politician will propose some humans need to die?  if the planet collapses all at once (we all run out of oxygen at the same moment), then sentient life goes quickly except for a few bubbles hidden under the earth.  the richest among us may soon build biospheres.  perhaps they're researching life on mars so humans understand the basics of a moon colony enough to build one here on our scorched earth

fully understand: when clicking around inside a telephone or computer application, fingerprints recorded and viewed

use schedule send after business hours if possible.  8am next business day please

read dubliners..

her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood

her eyes, which were grey with a shade of green through them, had a habit of glancing upwards when she spoke with anyone, which made her look like a little perverse madonna

mr duffy abhorred anything which betokened physical or mental disorder.  a mediaeval doctor would have called him saturnine.  his face, which carried the entire tale of his years, was of the brown tint of dublin streets.  on his long and rather large head grew dry black hair and a tawny moustache did not quite cover an unamiable mouth.  his cheekbones also gave his face a harsh character; but there was no harshness in the eyes which, looking at the world from under their tawny eyebrows, gave the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others but often disappointed.  he lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances.  he had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a predicate in the past tense.  he never gave alms to beggars and walked firmly, carrying a stout hazel

"i haven't seen any committee," said mrs. kearney angrily
"my daughter has her contract.  she will get four pounds eight into her hand or a foot she won't put on that platform."
"i'm surprised at you, mrs. kearney," said mr. holohan.  "i never thought you would treat us this way."
"and what way did you treat me?" asked mrs. kearney.
her face was inundated with an angry colour and she looked as if she would attack someone with her hands.
"i'm asking for my rights," she said.
"you might have some sense of decency," said mr. holohan.
"might i, indeed?...and when i ask when my daughter is going to be paid i can't get a civil answer."
she tossed her head and assumed a haughty voice:
"you must speak to the secretary.  it's not my business.  i'm a great follow fol-the-diddle-i-do."

gabriel tried to cover his agitation by taking part in the dance with great energy.  he avoided her eyes for he had seen a sour expression on her face.  but when they met in the long chain he was surprised to feel his hand firmly pressed.  she looked at him from under her brows for a moment quizzically until he smiled.  then, just as the chain was about to start again, she stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear: "west briton!"