In New Canaan today, saw a black squirrel running across the road. Its fur was shiny, looking more like chinchilla than squirrel, like exclusive little Fairfield County towns have to have their own special critters, critters that are prettier and more exotic than the plebian creatures that live down the road.

Delivering meds for a pharmacy this afternoon (why I was in New Canaan), ended up at Silver Hills (a rehab that looks like a small liberal arts college more than anything else), looking at all these calm, washed-out people sitting on steps and benches, sitting in front of the tv, sitting on the lawns, soaking up the heat and talking with family. A guy in massive need of a shave wearing jogging shorts and a plain white t-shirt wanted to give me a credit card # to set up an account with the pharmacy I was delivering for, trying to sound nonchalant while sounding utterly desperate. Both I and the staffer standing next to me started shaking our heads. Sad.

Not, however as sad as the kid on Lambert Rd., who snatched the bag out of my hand with a terse little "Thank you". He was standing behind his (I'm assuming) father, white bathrobe and red-rimmed eyes, blonde prep-school cut and two days of beard. Tearing open the bag in the foyer of a house the size of a hotel. I could just about feel the seismic vibrations sent out from his shaking hands. The father all exectutive grin, thanking me once, twice, thrice.

All about the desperation. Rich, poor, whatever.

Sad bastards.