Greetings from...home.

It's been a long trip back, and a largely uneventful one. I chartered a flight to Bangkok and then a cattle-car to San Francisco, at which point I freed myself from the sardines and caught a bus wearily home. Forty-eight hours point to point it was, and I was quite the fragrant collar. As the front door yielded unlocked, I could not have been happier to take in the stale air of the old familiar living room. No one was about, but I embraced the emptiness like an old friend. I toted the entirety of my entourage into the bathroom, locked the door, and filled the place with the hot steam of a well-deserved bath. The long soak turned into a shower, and damned if I wasn't back on California time just like that!

Seeing as no one was about, I tottled off to Ray's to shoot a few solo games on the rich burgundy felt. A tray of charcuterie and breads sat nearly untouched on a sideboard, and several boutique ales floated in a pool of half-dissolved ice. I was a man and it was a meal and the perfection with which we executed our mutual purposes was lost on neither of us. Adieu.