Isn’t everything always in the trunk?
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It wasn’t a lot of ice, but still, this morning, stuck to my windshield, there it was. Even more interesting to see, as it glinted in the waking sunlight, was that it had formed itself to the shmear, shall we call it?, left by my windshield wipers from the evening before; I’d used nearly the last of my washer fluid to clean the windshield. So, this morning, I had crystals galore, streaked in long, fluid (and a little tattered-y, because my wipers are in jeopardy of learning cursive handwriting, so bad are they) rivers of frozen delight. I know this is going to...
I'm addicted to crack (machines).
There's an epidemic in Starkville. I know because I'm very attuned to these things. Like any hypochondriac. It's crack (machines). I speak from experience. (And I'm pretty sure it's not an epidemic of One, but if it is, that's ok, because the army is an Army of One, and I know for a fact that there's more than one person in the army. I'm stepping forward to speak today because I'm no longer afraid to confess that I'm addicted. Perhaps, I can speak as One for us All. Perhaps, my story will help others). I could hardly write that last sentence without giggling...at least,...
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