2007-10-24 - 11:28 a.m.
I'm going to Las Vegas for a few days. It's for a bachelor party. I hope I don't get swallowed whole.
I'm getting a little tired of this little town. It's not an awful place, just little, and rusty, and quiet. There are train whistles every hour and lots of pickup trucks and a whole lot of young mothers yelling at their young children. It doesn't help that I'm shutting myself in a lot, but I suppose that's what I'm supposed to do. I'm moving along slowly but steadily here. I like to think that I can, if need be, churn out chapter after chapter, but fact is, I don't write that way. I need to build a page and then another, going over those pages until they're solid. That strategy's not going to set any records, but I think, maybe, it's the only way I know how to go.
My place here's on a busy street. The pickups and Chevy Cavaliers go fast on this stretch, a lot of them trying to beat a light a block down. And it's been vaguely wet here for a few days, like the Pacific Northwest or Ireland. Light but steady rain for 40 minutes of every hour. The sound of tires going fast on a wet street sounds like high-pitched, fast, industrial-level paper tearing.
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