April 15, 2010
Having friends over for dinner—three who don’t know each other. In the end, one doesn’t show, and the dinner falls apart. At the ACME in Paoli, I pick up tomatoes and bread, before the long haul home, to drive along deserted pastoral roads into Amish country. The night is purple and grey and black, and the stars are shining, and everything has the air of the apocalypse. I am nervous. The sky is trembling.
