The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
January 7, 2005

Push

There's no elegant way to put it; over-ripen persimmons taste like crap. Maybe that's why I have always had Monolo work from an unpublished menu, less the expectations. Leon left a message on the downstairs line. He says this year's training schedule won't work. A tempest in a teapot I am sure. He also needs my signature on a 'wet' application. I asked Monolo what this means and he wondered if daquiris were involved. Perhaps not. I am waiting for Constance to come over. She and I are going to stay in this evening and play backgammon. Apparently she is quite the player, or so she says. We'll see. As always Diary, touch will be kept.