What a pretty name for an anvil.
Poetic justice was served twice at the bookstore this weekend. The security folks pounced some shoplifting kid, and somebody's SUV, which they so lovingly parked on our sidewalk, got towed away.
Here's one for the ages: am I allowed to feel old when I find Facebook profiles for the kids I used to babysit, and they're scraggly emo kids finishing high school? Good heavens.
