At the Chau Chuk Wing museum K and I lingered too long in the foyer and were inveigled to attend a session of “The Festival of (Future) Urbanism”. There’s refreshments, the woman said. During the talk catering volunteers came and went, endlessly rearranging the food, once moving a stack of napkins six inches to the left. It was M Hulot without the squeaking door.

On the way home I ambushed Mr SF at the barber’s.

Thanks for hosting Annie.

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