I walked this morning. It rained during the night, and the sky was barely dripping this morning. The pump of blood, moving.
The wood of window frames and porches along my route suggests that Thunder Bay has harsh winters and blistering summers. I walked only a few blocks back from Lake Superior, in an older part of the city.
The city is hillier than a passing traveler might notice. The walking man has a more intimate understanding of the landscape than someone driving his car.
I am back at my room having a cup of coffee. It is morning.
A man and a woman come out of a store in a strip mall. He is wearing a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. They get into a car with an Ontario license plate.
I called Marg, whom we met while canoeing Little Caribou Lake a few years ago. We are set for barbecue at her house on Saturday. I called Black Pete of Red Wine & Garlic. We are set to get together Sunday evening. Later on, Peter stopped here at my motel and we talked for a bit. I got to see that he is a real flesh and blood person, not an internet figment; and he got to see the same about me. He will stop by about 8:45 a.m. tomorrow, and will give me a tour of his work place, which is only a few blocks from here.