Dear Fate,
You have perfect timing. Shortly you're to ring on my door, and carry me away for 96 hours. To a place where maybe Blackberries work; maybe they don't. Don't count on anything. Don't take anything for granted.
A good book, and two solid days to read.
No computer, green light flashing "on"; siren song of escape, and confinement.
Just me and, quite possibly, a pickled thumb.*
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*No, I guess that's Dawson City, not Yellowknife. At least, that's what Google says.
2 sweet nothing:
Aren't you going to Whitehorse?
Um, yeah. I'm in Whitehorse. Imagine my surprise when the plane touched down.
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