Dog is barking, stops when I approach the fence .
Carolyn, the playwright, and I have lunch in a restaurant “New Mexico”.
We walk to the library where we meet my neighbor (finally on neutral ground) a writer as well. When Carolyn asks him what he writes, he responds: “books”. I must have looked a bit dubious, I sensed that he interpreted it as my doubting his stature as a writer while I was wondering what kind of books he wrote.
Tonight, back to Lawrence.