With the Lights Out It's Less Dangerous, Here We Are Now Entertain Us

I have a photo of Mt. Kilimanjaro as my screen saver. Red and black caviar waits in my fridge. On my chest is the imprint of a man’s fist from the hardest punch I’ve ever taken and remembered. This morning, after four cups of coffee, I wrote dialog for the new screenplay that made me weep. Later, while sitting outside the National Theatre of Craiova, I watched an old Gypsy man with a wide-brimmed hat lumber across the stone plaza, trailed by a seven or eight year-old boy, who watched the teenage rollerbladers as if they were Death Angels from Another Planet. Days, I listen to Leonard Cohen; his music makes sense to me now. Tonight, on my way home from dinner, I gave a bite of leftover chicken to one of my neighborhood street dogs, a red one I call Rosii (Roshee) who licks my hand but will not let me pet her. Chitsu (Keetsu), the doggie in the window, was the neighborhood alpha dog whose trust I earned with pocketfuls of snacks. He used to guard Rosii, but seems now to have disappeared. Late tonight, I read about a new electric car that goes 300 miles on one charge. In Indonesia, a mini-tidal wave drowns at least 58 people. And an online Yahoo headline reads: "Judges' strange flirting; Ryan asks Simon and Paula why they can't keep their hands off each other during the show." Spring flirts with old and new wounds. Winds blow, birds chirp. The scars itch, ready for change.