(View entire post here)
I'd like to talk to those guys.
I struggled up to the house and collapsed on the porch, my furry Russian hat pushing down over my eyes in a dramatic interpretation of 'portrait of the artist as dead rancher'. My wife came out and asked if I wanted a cup of coffee, and I replied that I preferred to die de-caffeinated.
It's been a long winter, and to use the terms of the local paper The Buffalo Bulletin, the current storm "all but shut down the town and made life miserable for everyone". My romance with the American West, and life in general was creeping toward ebb. I stumbled in the house, tacking against the wind, peeled off my Carhartt, my wool muffler, my Sorels, and slumped down in front of the computer to answer emails.

















Recent comments
4 days 14 hours ago
1 week 2 days ago
1 week 3 days ago
1 week 3 days ago
1 week 4 days ago
1 week 4 days ago
1 week 6 days ago
1 week 6 days ago
2 weeks 12 hours ago
2 weeks 13 hours ago