Larry’s Home Journal has been poorly kept. Nearly 2:00 a.m., and I am speeding on some cheap speed and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and doing dope. Another night in Arlington.

A few bright days of blue skies and warmth. Wendy and I bask in long strolling lunch walks and yearn indescribably. Sunday is Easter. Yet we’re suspicious. Snow would not surprise me. Can winter be over?

Wendy is in bed asleep. Chippie is not home  yet, so I presume she’s gone out. The dogs are curled into heaps, sleeping, and my family seems to be in order.

So why did I take a hit of speed at midnight and now drink coffee and write?

Luke comes down the stairs and his footfalls sound like a human. Moronic mid-fifties movie on television.