paul·a·ver

This evening, I watched my dog, surveying her kingdom in the magic light of dusk.

Our friends at County Stadium, I mean Miller Park, really care about their brat and kraut eating, lager swilling fans.

“I said to him, I said…” I caught myself saying in a bout of storytelling at dinner with friends the other night as I relished another swallow of Tsing Tao.

I dreamt I was studying Saul Bellow in a literature class at an improbable college in an impossible time. I met the instructor outside the building, both of us rushing in late for lecture. He was at least ten years my junior, a first-year assistant professor, visiting, or term faculty with one well-placed journal article deconstructing the politics of contemporary video games. He wore curly, shoulder-length black hair, a white oxford shirt, and jeans. I hadn’t read the assignment, and I smiled, knowing he hadn’t either.

A few weeks ago, I had lunch with Jenn’s friend Brian, who starts today thru-hiking the AT.