6-10-01 Su 5:07 PM

Wow. What? Where am I? I’m at home. When did I lasty write? I typed fifteen minutes on th way to the Dodger game yesterday. Beer, dogs, nuts, jacks, ‘zels, etc. The Dodgers won the game when Mark Grudzelanek singled over a drawn-in infield with one out in the bottom of the ninth, breaking the one-one tie. We were in the car, listening to it on the radio, though. I mean to get the paper read and write these pages after the game, but I guess I was talking too much. I read the paper her and watched the Devils blow the Cup to the dreaded Avalanche. I was feeling nervous because Senorita Villa was coming over. I had a smoke and some drinks, and then I was nervous and tired. It was strained and awkward. Whatever. I poured pinot grigio for everyone. Rochelle had Anne ride in the front seat with me. “Longer legs,” she said. Anne talked about writing. Writing for Penthouse and so on. Modeling. Whatever. Sky Sushi, where Nattaz’s party was, was empty when we got there. Bad buzz. I got a pool table. Rochelle and I played. My game sucked. I struggled to think of things to say, but only cartoon psycho mutterings would come. It was stuffy, and I sweated like a marathoner in Miami, trying to keep Anna entertained and my wife loved. Rochelle said she felt like a third wheel and that she thought she should leave Anna and me alone. And here I thought I had been doing a good job at least of hiding that wish. I had three or four Amstels and a Turk and was just hitting my groove as the place began filling up and the girls pulled the plug. They were bored and threatened by fake tits or something. Anna hugged Rochelle and said good-bye. No hug for me. I think Rochelle was glad to see her go. My personal mind-body-sprit trinity was aroused and as yet undoused, but the mother-in-law was watching the movie “Philadlephia” when we got home, and that was a strange, horrible bummer. I went to bed and dreamt a black sleep.