To bond with my writer-husband, I killed a lone activist in my mind and buried him in the concrete of an outdoor pool.
I had set up three dates, connections with people that I had met via my network connections or the ever-helpful Craigslist.
The good thing about waiting all day and night for my luggage is that I was rewarded with this beefy guy lifting—not rolling or dragging—the thing up the stairs. Nice, but what
I live in a BEAUTIFUL place in a HIP neighborhood.