It’s not even 6pm and I’m already drinking. From time to time at work there are announcements about viewing photographers’ works. They lure us into a conference room with enormous tables spread with books of photography. Representatives smile. You smile back. They know you’re there for the food. We’re lured there with wine and cheese in afternoons or pink Danish and cream cheese in the mornings. I hit the Malbec wines hard today. All I want to do tonight is sleep. But it’s Thursday, and no one in Manhattan sleeps on a Thursday night. I have to motivate; it’s the weather, and it’s the dog. I feel guilty again. Linus isn’t getting enough outside time lately; the apartment is beginning to smell. Maybe I’ll bring home some cheese.