Our last night in Colorado was spent in Denver, where an old friend and I took my teenage sons on a walking tour of downtown.  Place was hopping. 

There was a gay “cowboy” in leather shorts and hat who followed us around Union Station, rather forlornly I thought.  That made me a little sad for him.  A drunk British chick, maybe 32, stumbled out of a bar and began hitting on my 18-year-old son.  I stood nearby and listened, amused.  Embarrassed, he wasn’t interested in any “old lady.”  That was even more amusing.  We rode the trams, wandered through some very edgy galleries–unlike most of those in CO–and ate at a gourmet pizza joint.  Good pizza.  God I do love Denver.

Finished screenplay upon arriving home.  Off it goes to the critics on Wednesday, final draft later this month, then to an agent in NY.  We’ll see how it shakes out.

Now for the 4th: picnic tomorrow, ball game to play, homemade ice cream to eat, a few fireworks to blow off, and a family to love.  Also ample time for mischief.