Once upon a time, I had a best friend. We did everything together and never took prisoners. And that friend's name... was C.J. Koster.
Nah, I've never met the guy. But we've exchanged emails, and I can say with confidence that if he ever left Korea and came back to the relative sanity of Canada, I would mail him a beer.* Especially now that he kindly asked me to post over at his blog, which is an always-enjoyable
howl of despair read.
My new boots remind me of how my dreaming has changed with the approach of middle age. As I grow older my remembered dreams grow fewer. I not only mean that the frequency of memorable dreams has diminished, but that some of the ones I pinned to the corkboard on the inside of my skull have grown brittle and fallen off.
And those are just the opening sentences! But I warn you, the rest of it is just some text I copied off an adult video site.