Brentwood

While I was on vacation last week, rather than go to the beach, or skiing, or even doing something fun like eating Japanese candy [wait, I did do that], I bought a house.

In the strictest sense of the term, I didn’t really buy it. The bank bought it, and I just leased my shrivelled, blackened little soul to them for thirty years in order to stay there. And it’s still not officially mine yet, as I have to wait until the end of January for closing.