Living in America

The lyrical Munich account I promised isn’t happening. Short version: it was genuinely great, the Hugendubel bookstore keeps getting more comfortable every time I go, and I spent way too long in a perfume shop. Which was fine. Worth it, actually.

Christmas Eve came and went without incident—no one crushed by a falling tree, no cookie-induced casualties, no ill-advised furniture assembly with a bad back. The season did what it does. And then this morning James Brown died, and something about that lands harder than I expected. He rocked everything he ever touched. I hope wherever he is can keep up with him.

In the meantime: please, let this cold break soon. Hallelujah.