of Cabernet, set on waking early tomorrow morning. When I wake, if I do actually, I’ll barrage the book. 23 minutes to just relax, after a 10-hour day in wine’s yoke. So, I’m here, just on the couch, thinking. These are just writer thoughts, and I’m just writing them. That’s what I do I guess. That’s what all writers do. I turn in the news, Fidel Castro dead, and I think about my age. I need to wake early tomorrow. Soon waking early will be an arduous thorn. Side affect of chance, living an artist. Okay, I’ll keep going.