The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
January 27, 2005


I spent most of the day yesterday thinking it was a bank holiday and then Manolo disabused me: the banks were open. Oh well, too late now. I wanted to get some crisp hundreds for the petty cash. Sometimes, diary, you need to grease the palms to get decent tamari and it's usually best if the grease is not used. Scotty G. is over but he's been on the phone with his bookie going over his Super Bowl "props," whatever they are. Seems like I'm the only person in the house without money on the mind. To wit: the bean garden finally dried out so I made a joke to the gardener about making split pea soup but he blankly told me to see a doctor for it. Time to hit the yoga matt, Diary, Guten Abend.

[signed] Nick

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