As I was driving home today through the yellow Turner smoke and haze I began to be amused by the idea of my little endeavor here as a kind of Thousand and One Nights...though its usually mornings.
No one is going to execute me if I fail to get up at some dark hour and dream up a little bit of prose, but I feel a great urgency until the little job is done.
Isn't that the story, the girl's life is to be spared if she can tell a story to stave off her death every night?
Actually I think the comments are the meat of the thing and the part that I love the best. I am continually touched that anyone bothers to come and visit for a bit.
I think its almost miraculous that we can do this. Maybe this whole paradigm won't even last for a thousand mornings/nights. We just don't know, but its swell fun. And maybe the being in touch helps somehow.
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