A journalist observes life in the far north.
Dad and I are still in our pajamas, both making calls and surfing the Internet. Dad works as a fixer for my older brother’s window company, so he as been on the phone arguing with window installers or suppliers or customers. Who knows. He’s like the Michael Clayton of the window business. He complains about it, but I think he likes it. He’s not the sort of person to do something he doesn’t want to do. We had major father-daughter bonding last night putting together a futon, where dad is sleeping while he is here.
Alec, me and dad.