I've been carefully reading A Guide to the Ecology and Care of the Red Mangrove and thinking about that dream I had last night about being devoured by rats. I'm worried about starving to death, and if there'll ever be a day in my life where I wouldn't rather die than shovel any more food into my system. This morning the motorcycle was laying on its side in the parking lot, as if it'd just gotten tired. Like me. And gave up to lie in the snow, cold as it is, and wait for someone to set it up right. Again. I've been dreaming of Her in that beautiful white gown and wondering what her flowers will smell like in her dreams afterward. And wondering if the smell of coffee, now, might make you dream of me -- locked up in the pages of pulpy American fiction.

I'm off now. To think about you both. To send my love off into your far away worlds twisted somehow into these cold middle western winds. To wait in a line to renew a license to run away on the roads where I'm, still, too afraid to ride.