I haven't felt like writing much and there isn't much to offer up. I've been housesitting a luxurious brownstone for the summer, feeling rather entitiled because I occupy three stories and walk around in my underwear and pay no rent, and not only that but the place is meticulously swept and disinfected by a housekeeper once a week (who thinks I'm a slob and probably would like to disinfect me if she had half a chance).

Because the house is so clean I feel a certain satisfaction when the inevitable dirty spot is discovered. Under the television in a room of hospital-cornered beds and bauhaus sterility there are dust bunnies that tend toward a species of carnivorous jackrabbit. In the bathroom there is a small cork keeping the drain open whose backside has a small patch of mold. When it rains there is serious cockroach movement, particularly in the kitchen, such that I'm wary of turning on the light after a certain hour in the evening in fear of the ensuing scurry.

All of this will shortly be exchanged for a single room the size of a split atom, deep in the cancerous bowels of Brooklyn.