“Half the fun of the travel is the esthetic of lostness.”
J.’s suitcases are still spread all over the house, but we have to pack up again and head out of town first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sure we could claim the title of jetsetters, but I think the more accurate term is hopelessly lazy and rushed.
We’ll be reporting to you from the American Southwest for the rest of the week, where the temperatures are going to be in the triple digits. It is very possible I may not survive the weekend. J. took Atticus golfing for Father’s Day and came home sunburned (Britain having paled him considerably over the past nine months), a nice prelude to our probable fate. Apart from getting Flyboy married, the goal is to try and take some pictures.