"Poor men, rich men, leaders of the land, see them with their trousers off they're never quite as grand..."

She laughed. "Every time you sing that I think of Bill Clinton."

I had to give Lisha credit. She was always willing to belt out songs to pass the time, and she sang almost as badly as I did.

She's got a journal of her own now, did you know?

Yes. Yes, I know.

Drop by and say hello, why don't you?

I can't. It's been too long. People, places, and events flow through her life like water.

Your point?

I wouldn't have mattered enough to remember.

So give her a wave. Let her know you still remember her. Just a how are you, things like that.

She won't care to hear from me. Or worse, she'll be indifferent.

Silly goose, just try.

It's a journal. I'm not supposed to know about it; I found it by accident. I only go there sometimes to look at her pictures.

Let her know. Let her know you've cared enough to come by. Let her know what you think of her work.

Maybe, maybe...no.

Will you go today?

No. No, not today.

Will you go tomorrow?

No, not tomorrow.

Someday?

Someday.

Someday soon?

Someday. Just someday.

All right, then.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.