There's not a breath of air stirring today. It's overcast, humid, and still. Not hot--yet--but it has potential. And of course I put off mowing until today when I can't realistically delay another day. I should be in a cage having my head examined.
July 19--Hong Kong. From his vantage point in Tai Tam park Lon thought the apartment blocks looked like toys. He trained his binoculars on one building, one balcony just as he had every day for the last week. Clamped to his wrist was a note pad with a pencil connected to it by a rubber leash. He kept meticulous notes of her movements. He wrote down what time she arose, when she went out, who came to call. Behind him in the shade of a lychee tree he had parked a scooter that looked like every other one that buzzed through Hong Kong's streets. Twice he had ridden alongside her hired car and no one was the wiser. Soon the call would come and then Lon would go beyond watching and reporting to doing. It would feel good to test his courage. He would finally put his hands on her skin that filled his dreams like cool ivory.