As I move out of town, I suppose it is only fitting that more-or-less the same thing that happened when I moved into town would happen, although this time it was the larger rear window instead of the little one that some snot-nosed punk decided to smash out. Photos tomorrow, I promise…

I’ve decided to list my return address on job applications as “St. Louis” rather than “Clayton,” since the USPS says either is acceptable, and the six people who know the difference might think I was some sort of rich snob otherwise.

I freely admit to snobbery (I do put "Dr." on my frequent flyer accounts and hotel reservations, after all), but I’m afraid I’m not rich—else I’d be living in the Central West End or the Washington Avenue loft district.