Scissors. Part two.

Or: A number of surprising realizations and a typewriter. Okay. Kind of left you trailing last time … let me catch you up. If you will recall, I’m getting my stitches taken out (part one) by someone fabulously incompetent. Or hilariously incompetent...

There’s time.

Five in the morning, again. There was a period of oh, at least five years, when every New Year’s Day found me at five in the morning sitting at a certain table in the corner of a certain bar in Tel Aviv. Two of those years I’d spent New Year’s Eve...
The Fluent Self