Florence

Sibelius sent me Florence and the Machine’s Lungs. I remember their music from the Eclipse soundtrack. My former room-mate had been a fan of that film franchise. I am surprised my teeth hasn’t fallen off to the rotting sweetness of the love triangle there. It was all Eat me, Drink me, if I remember correctly, with a dash of bed-breaking thrown in for rounding off.

One of my interns graduated and I went with him to help him purchase a car. It was just as tedious as you could expect. I had initially planned to help him find a place to stay too, but I begged off, too tired from the car dealer interactions.

I have a new cafe that I haunt. Thanks to corporate housing taking up their abode near my usual cafe, I have been forced to switch. Hopefully no more run-ins with Monday-Friday only folks.

I have flowers blooming in the garden, and I sit here overwhelmed, watching over them. I hadn’t expected them to not shrivel and die. I wonder why. They must be sturdy plants. And I have managed to acquire a green thumb.

A friend returned this week from a long vacation in Florence. I wonder how long it will take him to slip back into his Silicon Valley mode from his earthy Italian ways.

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