Turned Cool.

First flannel shirt of the season yesterday. Cooler tonight than last night. I'm not sure it smells like fall, but it smells like it smells like fall. And in other news, the new bathroom is all but in outside, and nothing's leaking any more. The sink leaked for a day and a half, but that's because PVC and metal don't so much go together, and also because I twisted the thing the directions said to not twist. The toilet's not leaking because I have lived a very nearly just life and am being rewarded for it—that, or basic principles of hydrodynamics are for whatever reason on my side this week. I don't know. All I know is that we had a post-Fay bathroom outside on Friday, and now we have a post-post-Fay bathroom outside.

More than one plumbing dude at Lowe's knows me by sight. Hey, I say. Can I ask you a question?

We head to NYC this weekend for some insanity literary and otherwise. The forecast high for Friday in the Big Apple is 65. With sun. That, friends and fans of stupid winter skullcaps, may be stupid winter skullcap weather, at least by cocktail hour. I don't have the kind of life where I can up and jet to NYC, but that's what I'm up to: it's a kind of fairyland craziness, and for now, I'll take it. If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere. It's up to you, 10003, 10003.

Crickets at it hard here in 27408. Dogs barking off in the distance, but not across the street. Plumbing functioning as it should. Jeans and boots weather. Dog happy. Dishes washed and kitchen ready for morning coffee. Getting dark earlier and earlier. I'm ready, goddamnit. Maybe not for sleet, maybe not yet, but I'm ready.