Update:
As of 11:59 p.m. on 11/12 I have 13,985 words.

Morale:
Ack ack ack. Worked late at the office today, tired as all git out, splitting headache, can't make myself stay up any later, worried I'll fall to the next germ sneezed my way.

But I've got this rationalized: I'm getting a flu shot tomorrow, and then I will be fearless! Caffeine and stubbornness will do the rest.

Excerpt:

David has started to follow the rise and fall of popular restaurants, dragging us out to the hippest new places. He makes a game out of trying to determine how long they’ll last.

"Oooh – Bambi’s mother is an entrée!" he exclaims, and reads aloud from the menu. "Seared medallion of venison accompanied by roasted fennel root and blah blah blah."

It actually says "blah blah blah" - that’s how hip this restaurant is.

David immediately picks up the tone at each place we visit, responding to fear with pity, and to condescension with even greater condescension. He can be seen nodding sympathetically with the chef in the kitchen, or heard making rude comments within earshot of an especially pompous maitre d’.

"Do you smell that, coming from the kitchen?" he says. "That’s the smell of death."

"It smells like sun-dried tomato coulis."

"Exactly. Nobody does sun-dried tomatoes anymore."

"Maybe they’re retro."

"Doomed," he declares. "This place is doomed."

"But I thought the - "

"Doomed."

The maitre d’ winces in spite of himself.