I tell you nothing.

But it seems that I will, perhaps, be living in Pittsburgh for a bit before moving further west, in something like a year's time. Parker and I will likely still be trying to fix houses. Good.

If you look up both of our names in the Oxford English Dictionary, I assure you that not only does mine mean infinitely more things, but also that mine is far more interesting. Being Jack has to do with being a knave and somewhat worthless, and with being a sailor, and being a sort of fish or something that is fed to them, and with various machines, and with being nearly everyone, out of work, or with every job, or a seducer of women. When people ask why it is my name, I generally answer that I named myself after one of the only things at which I have any skill. For some reason, they all seem to think that I mean being a pirate. Although I am fairly good at that, too.

I wrote quite a bit, tonight. My illustrator slave boy (who may have begun to redeem himself now that I've fired him) and I sat about in this perfect nameless cafe on ninth street. The music was fantastic, and they served my favourite brand of tea, and we worked until the candles burnt down.