I now live in an apartment above a pizza shop. Leaving the house I've been staying in for the past month with good blood and bad credit, I found a new place to leave my clothes on the floor and store my snowboard. Residing mere feet away from the village pizza place requires a feat of restraint on my part comparable to that embodied by the Lone Man in Jim Jarmusch's Limits of Control, where the stoic, suited man is dogged persistently for intimacy by The Nude, and his declinations never waver in their resolution. Anyway, Sunday is Family Dinner day in 4306, and I was happy to find out that this week we had a guest cook. He's a restauranteur of some sort, and despite having a low alcohol threshold, he made us a fantastic meal.