Finding out I have a day off the day I get it and at 7:30 in the morning, is by no means a day off, in fact... grrrr. Then the days that I do work, which are plenty, I end up at the stables after, until dark. Woodie, the loving southerner that he is, feeds me, while I sit in front of a rather large screen tv, in front of piles of newly purchased tack, next to a giant fish tank, below dusty cowboy art, and surrounded by receipts, and bits of paper wedged into the room. I think Woodie is comfortable. He and his 5'5" body are wedged into the love seat. I eat my burrito. Woodie is adorable. From Louisiana, perhaps french-spanish or Mexican, he has a handlebar mustache, with warn hands, he wears a white straw cowboy hat, which covers a long stringy ponytail. He says he was a hairdresser in the 60's and owned three shops in SF. I find it really hard to believe. wait no, it's not hard to believe at all, it makes me want to believe in life even more.