Memory is an elephant. Memory has strawberry blonde hair and a pager. I'll be watching some grindhouse when the kids go at a sleep. Right now? I'll be doing the same thing Steven Spielberg is. Maybe I can call him if I get stuck. Just give me two hours or so. I've got more than that, maybe nine, probably ten, but there's too much of the subject line phrase. Hey, I think I love you. Really. I mean it.
We found Do-Funny up to no good the other night. I hit him and he ran. The lady hadn't cuffed him. He left a wad of cash behind, so I was just going to let him run, but the lady wanted to give chase, and found him. He thought he'd hide under a house, but the homeowner/renter/squatter had a dog that a-fear'd him. We went under and dragged him out. The jail wouldn't take him, so I tossed him from a bridge. He hit the creek and hated getting wet. He'll be back. I ought to burn his shack down and drive him across the state line. Next time. For the last time. He's had too many of those next times.
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