I called her from the day job. The plan was to talk about the deficiencies of the postcard I designed the night before and I was also going to mention how I'm not digging the present deal I have going between she and me.

When she greeted me on the phone, she sounded depressed, but not with me; I assumed our current business state. I answered that I was doing well and then asked, with a knowing tone, how she was doing. She said she had a cold.

She said the postcards looked great. I told her that I disagreed and I told her why: they need to be bigger and they need to be full bleed. I told her the only 'pros' to the current size and that was that you could mail them at the postcard rate and that four of them would fit on a letter size page. I told her that if we increased the size it would cost a first class stamp to mail and we could only do two to a sheet but they would look better. I told her that if we did the smaller size that we would be "Penny wise and pound foolish."

Her having a cold threw me off my game. I don't hit people when they are down and plus I didn't think the sound of her voice was just related to her health.

My high morals disappoint me.

...

Why would anybody search for the phrase my pencil is blue?

I sure as Hell don't know but I rock that search on Google.

...

I live in certain part of a certain neighborhood in Boston. The neighborhood is often in the papers for shootings and even though