Saturday is Alright for Hanging Out on the Streets

Saturday is Alright for Hanging Out on the Streets

Or was it coming home for photographing of lovely opening to find all hell broke loose in my apartment building? Moved into paradise until a despot took over. Lady MacBeth and Professor Moriarty (think meaner and vicious). Without detailing it, let’s say past four years in this otherwise lovely apartment has been hell on earth. Time to get serious about this situation. That will require also legal work, research and compiling tons of info from neighbors. I could write books about both these situations. That’s how much paperwork I’m generating. Oy. Feeling like a tiger in a cage, pacing back and forth and deeply growling, I kept asking myself why do I feel like this? Was it the fact that my photo archive is being held hostage? Despite a strongly worded demand letter from my attorney. Sadly looks like litigation. Which costs a lot of time and money. That would put someone in a bad mood. Sometimes sitting on my butt, in front of screen, for 10 hours a day every day of the week really gets to me. I just walk and walk. Around the neighborhood. Or inside the courtyard. Tonight, as I looked out my kitchen window, studying the clouds and their cool damp air, in true June gloom, I flashed onto strong feelings and one powerful image. I’m in front of my dressing table mirror, with my lotions and potions and paints. I’m coloring my face, to complement my mood and dress, before going out. Life begins at 8:45. (An Al Jolson hit from the early 1930s. Delightful.). 8:45 is when Al picks up his lady...

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