February 23, 2005
We had the strangest hail storm out here in Cave Creek last night. A huge semi-circular cloud angled in over Black Mountain like a Death Star at about 5:40 P.M. And then the sky started raining ping pong balls. Within minutes it looked like a Flagstaff snowscape, with everything covered in white. Cars slushing down the roadway with their lights on, their drivers craning their necks up at the sky in disbelief. Ragged, dramatic clouds, spooky formations (which I later found out turned into tornados northeast of here). Washes running white! Weird beyond belief. Three newschoppers hovered overhead for more than an hour, trading places as they angled in for the evening news cutaways. If I believed in End Days, I would have been packing for the hereafter.
As for yesterday's comment that we have a bunch more women reading True West, here's an aspect females bring to the study of history that we normally think is reserved for men:
"He kissed me finally, long, soft and deep. I reached to touch him, to hold him, to feel his skin beneath my waiting hands. There was dampness beneath his shirt.
'"Billy–' I began. But he kissed me again, his tongue inside my mouth, moving, probing. One hand held the back of my head, the other squeezed my breast, rubbing and caressing me there. I put my arms around him and held him against me as closely as I could."
You can check out Pamela’s bold Bonneybrook at:
This just in from Flag:
"Investigators, responding to persistent questioning by reporters, today
admitted that Hunter S. Thompson did not leave a suicide note. However, his
body was found slumped in front of his computer where the 2005 True West
Best of the West survey flickered onscreen unfinished. 'We're not going to
draw any conclusions,' one investigator said, 'but it looks like he sort of
snapped somewhere around 'Best Jean Trend Setter', poor sucker.'"
"If you have a lot of tension and you get a headache, do what it says on the aspirin bottle: 'Take two aspirin' and 'Keep away from children'"
—Russell Shaw via John Cotter
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