Back from a whirlwind weekend of performances and dance camp in Toronto, straight into the insanity of 500+ campers and 100+ temperatures. A crazy day, a quiet hour. Post-shower, sitting and sweating on a plastic chair on the porch of my summer room, catching up on my Harper's Magazine. This, from a sad and self-condemning article from May:
Walking home, I look at the screen of my cellphone for guidance. In the dark it functions like a little flashlight, I am thinking. Maybe it will knit me a tiny sweater to keep me warm.