I come to Grandma's to eat with her; usually I greet her first, then go downstairs to serve up, then come back upstairs to eat, but I enter downstairs first to save time, and start serving up my plate. She's prepared a small meal including a paper bag of tortilla chips.

She enters the room suddenly and, not expecting me, is very startled for a few seconds and then scolds me in her inimitable finger-shaking way, "Don't you ever do that again..."

One of my truck tires (passenger side front - I think the same one that blew on our first trip to Lester, Washington) has blown up, and I am at the shop anyway for some reason. They've put small tires around it, leaning against the wheels, to suggest.

I find a letter in my mail. It was originally from someone I once knew, I think named Clarissa, just saying hello from jail. Natasha has scribbled on it that she became interested, called her in jail and befriended her, and now her friendship with this girl is more important than mine.