The last thing I said the last time I wrote isn’t nearly as shocking as the things I’m going to write about this time. First, though, it turns out that Dedra, Renee and Corinne all live in my old apartment on the first floor around the corner on Locust St. What a weird coincidence, huh?

That’s nothing compared to what I’m about to write about now. First, I was on the phone one night with a girl who called from the 900-line whom I never bothered to call back, when my hero Bill H called saying that the Dunaeffs at Dunaeff School of Performing Arts was closing cuz they’re retiring. Jean, I guess, has had a slight stroke. So Bill went on to say how he hated to see a low-income person have to back out and that he needs a place to teach in Springfield. He’s from Northampton and also gay as I pretty much figured. I told him my place was huge and I’d be honored and thrilled to have him use my place for him to teach. So he came over and saw how huge my living room is and he said he wasn’t trying to use me for a place to teach but that he really liked working with my voice and that if he did and it works out ok he’d teach me for free.