The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
May 6, 2005

Made

Constance and I are getting settled in Pittsburgh's third finest hotel, which appears to be the Omni. In the lobby, a loud Texan spoke into his cell phone a tale about a five pound burger he consumed. Sounds like a Chekov story to me. I have packed a new batch of traverler's underwear, a wonderful garment Manolo turned me onto a few years ago. Turns out those airline catalogs are good for something after all, as I picked up several free tips about things to do in the city. Rain greeted us at around 5,000 feet and has been keeping us company since. I actually find it refreshing. The rain in the 'bu is a lesser thing. I think the view of the ocean does that. We made the mistake of taking a taxi into town and I was buttonholed on various pictures and people I had "made it" with. I did not know how to intrepret "made it". Until tomorrow, Diary.