Did he ever return? No, he never returned,

And his fate is still unlearned,

He will ride forever ‘neath the streets of Boston,

He’s the man who never returned.

When I hear this, I hear two versions of the same song: The Kingston Trio’s M.T.A. and the slightly more modern Skinhead on the M.T.A. by the Dropkick Murphys. The latter uses a lot more “Oi! Oi! Oi!” and replaces phrases such as “man, get off the train, and sandwich” with “skinhead, punched in the brain, and grenade.”

Unlike the man or the skinhead, I am returned, though three days without a post seems like an eternity.

I had intended to write last night, but before I got to it I was dragged out by Orlando, not to return until the wee hours of today. I’m not used to being out at night, but a combination of excellent microbrew, turkish coffee, and generous company made the evening a very good one.

Christmas came a bit early yesterday as a shipment arrived from exotic Houston. Art from the gallery of bon vivant and starving artist Jin Wicked. Unpacking the box, we found what we had ordered; five black and white prints and the original of Ne plus ultra, which is now hanging in the studio, waiting for the rest of my decor to hurry up and provide a suitable environment for it.