she lost yesterday to Virginia Ruano Pascual 7-5, 6-1.

she called me and then hung up without leaving a message.

i was playing softball.

we won 15-6.

when she finally reached me she didnt want to talk about tennis.

i almost pulled my quad running around second, i told her.

are you in love with karisa? she asked.

i was stupid, i said, ignoring her, which is what you should do when girls are being girls. i didnt jog i didnt run, you should always run around the field first then stretch then sprint then jog again.

’cause you sure did kiss her ass. she pouted.

i mean, i know i dont look 108, but tonight i feel about 75. my left leg. my arm’s fine though. and i almost thought i broke my foot when i crossed home.

do you even love me any more, tony?

no, im no longer in love with you. i told her.

when im on the phone i pace. people used to make fun of me until i saw the thelonious monk documentary “straight, no chaser.” a fellow libra, monk would pace and walk in tight little circles and talk to himself. he talked to himself when he played too. even if you have a crappy stereo if you get the verve recording of “alone in san francisco” you can hear him approving of certain runs or well struck notes.

i play monk any time i can at the department store.

and when i do i talk to myself quietly.

you dont?!

how old are you, anna?

twenty one.

ok, i change my mind then,

i still love you.

brezney was right, the real thing has arrived. kate sullivan is now writing for the new times la, and today unveils her new column.