The morning’s exercise was civic; I cast my vote and went on my way, the sort of small duty that asks little and means more than its size. The long campaign now is the endurance race at Spa, eight hours of it, of which I have run three; the rest waits for tomorrow, and I intend to see it through. A Costco run did its usual damage to the ledger, a battle one does not win so much as survive. In the quieter hours I added a few useful phrases of Korean, enough now to locate the cup noodles in a convenience store, which is the kind of competence that justifies itself eventually. I am three chapters into Sagan’s Contact and nothing has yet happened; a slow-simmering read, I think, the sort that rewards patience or punishes it, and I will know which soon enough.