Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Smiles of a Summer Night

My husband comes back from a 10-mile run (we each do about 25-30 miles/week) saying something's happened he hasn't encountered since Miami. Not one but two separate guys sitting on their front stoop enjoying a splif perfuming the August evening. We're talking upper Northwest, cavedweller country. It doesn't happen here, Muffy.
So Bergman dies and everyone's all like whoa, and Antonioni goes and it's like, so?

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