The Night Watchman

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I am playing hooky from work.



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Yay for me!





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I am writing, writing, writing. Scribbling away. Wearing my fingertips down to nubs.




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I am a dark-hearted thing. A rough beast.



There is yet good in me.



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I have written all the day long. Now I am going to drink vodka, start a fire (in the fireplace), reheat the Morrocan chicken pot pie I made last night, make a salad of mixed baby greens, red onion, and beets, and await the return of my wife.


I feel good.


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