Fried Day Night

Superdawg One (A Chicago landmark, near our house, shot about an hour ago.)

Last night’s thesis class ran over a wee bit; I had some work to finish in my office afterwards, before I could leave.  I stopped to talk with a good friend on the street and didn’t get home till past midnight.  Paul was gone overnight to a conference.  During the night, somehow, the vibrating disc of my deaf alarm clock (the vibrations wake me, rather than sound) worked its way out of my pillowcase and onto the floor.  The dog woke me with her cold nose, almost two hours late; I fed her, threw on clothes and dashed out the door with a cup of coffee for breakfast and juuuust made it to my once-every-three weeks Friday class (which is six hours long) on time.  One of my colleagues stopped in, I blurted out this story, and he kindly bought me another cup of coffee and a banana.  Amazingly, the class went rather well; I caught up on the morning prep I’d missed as it went on.  Ten and a half hours after I woke, I finally got a meal.

As I left the school building a pale, skinny, black-haired man, all dressed in black, went cruising by on the busy sidewalk, a loaf of bread in one hand and a gallon of milk in the other, on a unicycle.  Just another work day.

Superdawg 2 (My alarm clock)