The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
April 9, 2005

Ur

I try every year to go a day without speaking. It clears out a particular part of the human mind, if not the brain. Usually this is accomplished either by pretending to be a very timid foriegner or by staying in bed all day. This year it took both, but it was a call from Scotty late in the afternoon yesterday that broke my silence. He was playing a homeless man and would I give him some pointers his message read. For some reason that day Manolo's loopy handwriting gave the message an unusual dignity. Manolo had surely made some excuse for me that would be difficult to explain away, so I made some notes for him on a postcard and polished off the day playing the royal game of Ur alone in bed.