I read somewhere once that a novel is like a love affair and a short story is a kiss in the dark from a stranger.

Which... uh... considering the random people I meet, not such a sexy thought.

I met a self-described Puerto Rican redneck named Cumacho at the gas station yesterday. He had on a muscle shirt and had a long French braid. He said I was a "sexy, built cornbread-fed country girl." He told his friend he wouldn't wanna piss me off. His friend leaned on his pimp cane, sized me up, and said, "Nuh-uh. No way. But I never fight ladies. I jus' make 'em feel real good." I said, "Me too!"

K, I should totally refrain from commenting on you writer journal. I so have nothing intelligent to say. :P