I'm pretty much out of stories. I'm working on/up another wee elvis thing, but it's not revealing itself to me in any hunka-burning love kind of way. I'm not worried, though. I wrote HARD April through July, so a dry August seems right.
At the cabin Friday night my dogs had me pinned on either side, and they fidgeted a lot, traveling up and down especially before dawn. I dreamed they were Facebook status updates for Pank and Barrelhouse. Newton (pictured) was Barrelhouse.
