Ah yes, committing crimes in one's own house, truly there is nothing greater to be accomplished then pulling something off where you always are, and being the first person that would be suspected were any incriminating evidence to surface. And now here I sit, reveling in my achievement. A good night all around, good weather, good company, and not a person in sight in my house. Empty as it should be. Free to do as I please, and be as loud as I want, I strut through the halls with a certain note of confidence. Power resides here. Owning walls, that is the key. If you have a place of your own, you already years ahead of most people. I put a lot of work in today, and most of it was of no consequence. Cleaned the pool on the slight chance that someone will want to take a dip. Offered food in case anyone was hungry. Got along with everyone, even though not everyone remains now. It's not very surprising, just a bit disappointing. Tonight was my last night with Tim, and it was a good one. Through the best of times, and the gayest of times (all the time), Tim will always be there, a good time wrapped in a white shirt. I will miss him a great deal, damn these vacations, always getting in the way of things, ruining weeks of doing nothing together everyday by taking you to some other place in the country that is just as hot as it is here, and wander around taking pictures of things you'll never see again, but for some reason simply must remember. Good old photography, where would your eye-brain nerve be without it? No where, that's where, because you wouldn't have a map, because maps are based off of satellite photography. Schooled you. Now hold still while I gas you.