This a.m. I was thinking about, just about. I was wondering if I should go on telling my stories or not. I never do get around to a lot of them. Such as Dorie, Jenny, or funky Christine out in N.H. (Thats a good funk) Being a poor typist I also thought about how much I leave out due to laziness. A story I can tell in five minutes, provided I don't get side tracked, takes me an hour to write. Then for some reason I thought about weapons I have had pulled on me. Due to my interaction with officers of the law there was off course guns, but the strangest was a meat cleaver and sharpening rod. Two questions came to mind. Where was he hiding that cleaver, and why didn't I see it coming.
Never knew a butchers daughter, but I did know a couple dealers that wanted to make mincemeat out of me.
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