And guess where I'm sitting.

Home.

Got to the arena and discovered I had a half-flat tire. I had had a reader call me yesterday and ask me to sign some books before the evening program tonight. I'd gone home not feeling well—I think it's the Zamboni fumes in the underventilated arena. But I was to come back tonight, sign the requested books, and rejoin Jane—who'd called and asked if I could bring her more batteries. She'd also forgotten her seat cushion. So I got to the rink, paid my 5 dollars for parking, but the tire...