The Russians have gone missing. Tolstoy and Dostoevsky anyway. Turgenev's still there, on his shelf in the library, but the other's have disappeared. So has my clothbound edition of Thom Jones second short story collection, Cold Snap. Gotta make a trip to the storage unit and open some of the boxes in there. Take a hard look around. Don't know where else those books might have wandered off to.
Weather people said monsoon season's come. They were right for a change. Rained off and on all day. But nice rain. Cooled everything down.
Sloughed off a trip to the habitat store in favor of a quick run to Costco to pick up allergy drugs and a couple of bottles of wine. Looking to stuff some mushrooms tonight and take it easy. Maybe make a fire out back if the kindling isn't too wet.
Finished what felt like the last of the edits on "Sweetheart of the Rodeo" this morning. Looking to send it off tomorrow and move along to a new story. Got high hopes. We'll see if they're worth anything.