Somewhere not far from where I now recline, a lady trucker might be searching for a skunk-besmirched boxer named Brian.  We encountered her here in Green River, Utah as we walked back to our hotel from a truck stop where the cashier kept telling a friend that she didn’t threaten to kill her daughter’s boyfriend, she promised.

I woke up at about three o’clock this morning and flew first to Denver and then to Vegas.  As soon as I got in the car, it was decided that we might as well drive back to Chicago right that second.  So here we are, in easternish Utah.  Never before have I flown to a place only to turn immediately back around for a multi-day drive back to my point of origin.  I missed my boyfriend.

I had a great pre-dawn ride to O’Hare with an enthusiastic Somalian man.  It rained a great deal last night and the darkened and still wet city was a nice sight from the back of the Somali’s efficient taxi.

Look kids, it’s the momentary ghost of Michael McDonald!