It's 5 pm, and it's been a loooooooooooooooong day, with 3 showings left still. I feel like a hostage.

There's a nibble on the line though, maybe a light at the end of the tunnel. A couple came here early this summer to take a massive glider off my porch - nobody was laying on it and the place was cluttered so we listed it on Craislist as a haul-away. They came back when the saw the For Sale sign, saying they'd been hawking the place ever since. Today they came back and spent 3 hours here, with his parents in tow, who kept going on and on about "crime", ie Black People. "This street is close to Main Street", (long suggestive pause). Even the agent, who could kiss the devil's ass, finally couldn't take it anymore and left, leaving OJ on the porch chatting with them. No, chatting with HIM. His name is Ted. By the time they left, it was a toss up on the vibe the wife was giving on the whole idea, whether she was more hating the father-in-law or more suspicious of OJ, while OJ meanwhile had, indeed, crushed out on her prospective new landlord. I guess instead of calling him "landfriend" the way she does me, she'll call him . . . ? . . . "landman"? "landnextguy"? Gimme a break, don't alienate the wife!!! "This is all I'm good at," she says. loloyyyyy

Meanwhile, TJ barfed at camp, a summertime classic. Union meetings, nympho tenants, barfing boys, racist in-laws - it's a god damn zoo around here.