Arno should be here now. O boy o boy o boy.

Yesterday I tried to deliver a pizza, well, I did eventually deliver it, you see, but for a while i was just trying to deliver it. The deliver was to the last house on Jean St, a little street in the middle of nowhere (which is up near Merrifield), a short little road with five streets and a middle-aged man mowing the lawn in flannel shorts and a white shirt.

This is supposed to be a get-together, not a party. Someone has to leave -Kevin McDonald.

So there I was, on this short little street. I was about to turn into the driveway when this little black dog, a cockerspaniel or some other variety of not-too-bright smallish-looking dog, this little thing, runs in front of the car. And I stop. Then it runs to the side. Whenever I try to move, the dog is invisible, too near to the car. It takes me five minutes to work my way to the driveway, even with the flannel man calling the dog. When I drive away, the dog runs in front of the car, barking wildly, and vanishes. I keep driving, get back to Giovanni's, and check for dog guts, worried that I ran the dog over. I didn't, but whatever.

Ok, I'm at Graham's and Arno is here, so enough blogging. Later.