About

I have a room in a house in Echo Park, not the whole house. The kitchen is shared. My shelf in the fridge is the bottom one, which means I plan around other people's leftovers. That is fine. I am not here most evenings.

I work a counter until eleven, four nights a week, at a place on Sunset that sells coffee after it should have switched to being a bar and never quite did. Days off I ride the bus farther than I need to, or I walk the river path when the concrete has dried enough not to slick under my shoes.

The name of this notebook is older than the room. I wrote it on the first page of a paper pad the winter the channel ran high and people stood on the bridges to look. The pad filled up. The site is the same habit, with the dates on it so I can find a Tuesday later.