This morning I dreamt of being on a train, of seeing a tornado coming up just behind us. I was screaming �Tornado!� over and over, but nobody paid attention, till windows started blowing out. We were in the dining car, trying to cower under tables. The twister didn�t hit us directly, and we continued on, until I noticed a small blur of dark fur running along beside us, ran to the door, and let the dog jump on. The name on her collar was �La Manga,� and when I whipped out the cell phone to call her owners, they were distant and dubious. Was she peeing on everything? No, she wasn�t. Must not be. But her name, your number. Please come pick her up--we�re at McDonald�s in Gibson City. They were vague and uninterested, and I couldn�t leave her.
They say there�s a front coming through tonight. Nothing makes sense this week. People come and go, phones ring, and none of it is expected. No one makes wise decisions. It�s a wreck of ill-timed mishaps. Would that all of it would pull out and move on along.
They say the amaryllis is also known as a belladonna lily. It�s the difference between being called Gertrude or Isabella. Take your pick.
Failing all else, go see the Buzzards and Purplene tonight. And Scott Miller tomorrow night. Cold beer hello.