It’s a gray morning. Something about the way the light hit the trees this morning let me know it had snowed overnight. Not a lot, just a soft dusting across every flat surface. Podrick was mostly normal. He’s moved on to stalking a maple bug across the floor, ever the mighty hunter.
Shawshank had a busy night at work yesterday. Mine was decidedly less busy. I had some people in chat, had a couple of tippers, but nothing crazy. The night’s biggest tipper left me with some light constructive criticism: I’m great right out of the gate, but I “lose steam quickly”. I’m getting better about prompting for tips to try and get the room going – he admitted I “got him twice” under two different accounts – but I’m really bad at pushing them to keep going. Goals: improve my banter.
Snow is falling again. Fat, wet flakes.
After dinner, I ran through the next mission in “Saints Row 4“. They’re always entertaining in some ridiculous way; in this case, I was naked. After I beat it (taking several attempts, because fuck that spaceship), I enjoyed my prize: taking Keith David on chaotic adventures with me.
We’re working again tonight. We’re operating with the knowledge that no matter what tonight brings, we’ll have tomorrow off.
