Next time you see some chump chuggin' down the road in an unwashed, sun-bleached piece of shit Dodge Neon, know that you have beheld me, and weep.

Fireball got out of the shop today and is running as decently as it was back in June, when it died and was left to rot until I could afford a mechanical necromancer to bring it back from the grave. Mechanics don't come cheap, and since cheap is what I am, I've abstained from doing a damned thing about my car until now.

Sure is nice knowing I can get outta town whenever I want to now. Not that poor ol' Fireball could get me very far, but that's beside the point. Houston's getting old, and while I can't think of anywhere specific I'd rather be, I most definitely need a change of pace. Even back to the burbs would suffice, if only for a little while.

Two hours until I'm off the clock, which means two hours of writing and thinking of something to say when I give my first (and probably only) book reading in Huntsville next week.