I coulda been in Venice! I had an invitation to a ball at a 14th Century palazzo. Of course I accepted, with enthusiasm. I assured the host I would show up but covertly I had my doubts. I am a terrible flake. I tried to picture myself attending, hoping to manifest by visualization. I saw a dress of dark velvet and introducing myself as the Serbian vampire Princess.

The horrible truth is for a fortnight I’ve been intending on crossing the street to the tailor at the corner to ask him to sew a button on my jacket. To be fair this is a wide street with tracks for electric trams and broad trees whose boughs bend over the boulevard, but I am too lazy. Thus the jacket hangs limp by the front door and I splay supine on the sofa and dream of how things might have been.