Thursday, July 07, 2005
Breakfast with Fritz
Fritz, the Prince of All Dogs, lives at my mom's with Mom and my Brother. I used to live there too until Chris & I moved into a dog-hating apartment.
My brother? He's in Vegas to compete in the World Series of Poker. Seriously! Send him your good gambling vibes, I command you.
So, me? I am living on fruit alley* in 'historic west edgewater' (aka my old hood) with Fritz until they come back and my brother is a millionaire.
Fritz won't eat his dog food unless you sit in the kitchen with him. Then he will get some kibble from his bowl and turn to face you while he crunches it. A social eater, that Fritz. So we ate our breakfast and chatted, and I read the paper, and didn't find out until I got in the car and turned on the radio that a bunch of bombs went off in London and killed people. The reactionary fearful person in me wanted to call Scratch and tell him not to take the train to work today. Then I realized that's dumb. I'm going to email my friend in the UK today to see what is going on.
*When my dad was growing up, they called our block 'fruit alley' because every backyard had a fruit tree where the garages would eventually go, and kids would ride their bikes down the alley and grab fruit off of the trees.