5:58 p.m. - May 20, 2003
He likes my voice and my laugh, my smile.
He is not a Texan but a Montanan and we talk about prairies and vistas, wide-open spaces and woodshops in the back. Iíve told him some about Spec and he told me some about his background and I feel his honesty seep and in return I let down my guard a bit, though deep down that naysaying voice urges Caution! Caution! in neon.
I know itís spring and just as passion dries into summer, Iíll soon back away, find an excuse to close the door. Maybe heíll do the same, maybe not. These things are brief interludes, minor stray chords.