Gossip is dying out because fewer and fewer people care to talk about anything besides themselves.

The writer is always courted by invitations from the all-too- familiar.

The truths I shun follow me, mumbling.

Boredom turns to panic if my beloved leaves before the usual time.

Malevolence is shameful but satisfying.

Home again, I can groan, scratch, and talk to myself.

As a child I was middle-aged and cautious compared to my impulsive father.