Flashes of Panic

I wrote four postcards yesterday (checking watch) uh, Thursday, sitting on a warm step in a sunny plaza with no better place to be. I put stamps on, but didn’t get them addressed until that evening.

I’ve spent all of today in the venue (literally from nine to eleven), and expect to do the same tomorrow. I also can’t be sure I’d know the difference between a mailbox and a recycling bin (that would be A Bad Thing). I suppose I’d better leave the cards with reception at the hotel, or I’ll be sending them from an airport.

An airport in Italy, with my luck. If not Logan.

Now Playing: You Don’t Know How It Feels from Wildflowers by Tom Petty

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