You love him," he says. Not an asking, just a fact. "I do," I say. Also a fact.

I just stand there like a doofus wondering just what in the effing blazes is going on.

I take my rucksack and go out the opening where the front door used to be. Manchee gets up from where he's curled and follows me. When I sit down, he recurls by my legs and fall asleep, farting happily and giving a doggy sigh. Simple to be a dog.

I want a campfire box.

Superior numbers versus superior firepower. A recipe for unending slaughter.

I promised to keep on going but maybe keep on going means coming back first.

Know yourself and go in swinging, if it hurts when you hit, it might be real, too.