He comes from a faraway land. A land on the edge of a massive lake. It's a strange land where the rivers are contaminated beyond redemption, the lake poisoned as well. The streets are hard there, life is an edgy issue at best. He is Wicca, having assorted tattoos to verify his belief in nature worship. So be it, he ain't no fucking Christian, so he can't be that bad.
The weather is incredible here. Cool in the morning and at night the fog creeps over the Santa Monica mountains to cool the valley with a thick cloud cover. By eleven, the skies open blue, the gray clouds now a puffy white that float away. Not at all what last year brought, hot followed by more hot until it got real hot. I'm sure we'll get some of that at one point but for right now--it's Camelot for queers of Gaza.
Prince Albert helps with Wally a lot. It's been very nice for all of us and, I, for one, am very grateful. When I think about Golden Boy and his infantile behavior, I'm so glad to be rid of him for ever more. Maybe it's because of his leave that our weather has been so good, I don't know but what ever it is I do hope it keeps up.
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