"Oh, he's a younger guy then?" I ask. "I couldn't really tell," he says. "He's white."

The shrill ringer of a phone rills on incessantly.

"Are any of your posts about anything that is worth posting about?" He asks. "If it makes me laugh, it is worth it."

"I've sewed the bottom of the sock to the top." He explains, trying to get his fellow conscripts to take a more active interest in his problem. "There's no way my foot is going to fit in it now."

I look around to see if there are security cameras, that I might submit a video of the park to the professional parallel parkers' association for prizes or honorary membership.

I bring coffee when I travel now. My beans and a grinder, and my Hario V60.

Everybody's favorite detective, Columbo, that little man in the rumpled raincoat, comes off base, but is deceptively acute.

I'm excited to use my screwdriver, but– I've learned this from my Dad– you have to curse a bit.