It’s ten after midnight ATL time, and I’m up. Kinda. My weight is sinking through the air mattress on the floor in Ebeth’s living room in Swiss Cottage, and my butt is hitting the ground. I’m growling. My brow is furrowed as I stare at the screen with watering eyes, at fifteen second intervals I either clear my throat or rub my nose. I’m about to expose a few unsuspecting individuals to whatever germs I picked up that have burrowed themselves into my immune system and made me not-so-immune.

The walk to the train depot, the ride to Gatwick, the two hour wait to board and the stupid-long flight home will all be opportunities for me to share the love with the residents of the city that’s hosted me over the last week.

It’s the least I can do, really.

I’ll type at you again from the land of my taxes.

Kissy boo.