12-03-03

I feel like a character in some film-noir as I walk to Tora Trucklet in the rain and the dark this evening. My long, black flogger's collar is turned up against the wind, and I stride from streetlight to streetlight, hands fisted into my pockets. The steady thunk of my bootheels against the sidewalk; a cadence that mutters, "Home, home, home." The rain comes down in waves that splatter over the pavement. I'm jingle-brained. My shoulders ache, three hours of Middle Eastern history class ain't duck soup. Even a magnum-sized cuppa Joe doesn't help. So I takes a heel and toe, see? Hardboiled Slang

I'm happy that I didn't trip over my own feet. That's what happens when I'm being so hip. Hmm. Not hip, what is a good noir-esque term? Ah yes, hittin' on all eight.

Now to finish a paper for women's studies, and I'm free to fall into the land of Nod.

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