Fort Apache

 

Windy on the porch now. Sun playin’ hard and seek. Sketching a portrait of Sak for her birthday on the 20th. She is on the dock with her black covid mask pulled down over her chin. She told me it was the best photo of her in about twenty years.  I hope to do it and her justice. 

When I walked into town earlier, I passed a house called Fort Apache and recalled the house by the same name on Water Island out here - summer of ’77. There was a great girl named Yvonne or something close to that … Minion that’s it … and she was gracious to let everyone in our house use their bathroom when ours was impossibly fucked up for days and days. One morning Don came out of our bedroom - where he was sleeping with a friend of a mutual friend of ours and he was  startled to see me in the living room, back early from the city. He made a swift U turn into the bathroom and forgot not to flush and I’ll spare you describing the god awful, disgusting mess that gushed forth. Ah, the days of wine and roses.  

Nancy is painting the view of the ocean and sky from the porch. Amanda is reading the Times. Treat Williams died in Vermont from a motorcycle accident. 

It’s become a gem of an afternoon. It feels great to give my friends a stellar time. I will make a deliberate effort tomorrow to flirt. Amanda is excited. She went inside to get the joint her brother gave her. 

We go down to see the sunset on the dock … after Amanda asks me ... after reading them just as thoroughly as many other guests of mine has ... if the five year old gossip rags on the coffee table should be thrown out.  I tell her of course not. They’re more popular in the house than cookies.