sticky fingers

Phillip and I can go years without talking. We don't; but we could. And if we did, I might not even notice, not because I don't need him when he's not there, but because he always is when I do.

Lately, though, I haven't noticed the lack of "real" time even as much as I used to, in part because he calls and e-mails frequently, though usually at four or five in the morning.

He's a bartender. He's quite good at it, actually. I put a call out for cocktail recipes for a pink-themed party, and he immediately responded with some excellent suggestions. And last time he visited he noticed—and then (to my shocked delight) managed to make use of—some of the strange things I keep around my kitchen.

(He also used to make me mix tapes with these beautiful covers...)

So I decided mail, at least, is better than e-mail (the other person having actually touched it). So I'm sending him ingredients.

The first is a jar of chocolate.



and then some blank postcards.



We'll see if he bites...