Last night, I was kneeling on the floor of a dimly-lit hotel ballroom next to a gold-plated rifle waiting on a man in a tuxedo to do something other than spit dip into a beer bottle. That's when I realized my knee was in a puddle of cow pee.
I thought, well, it's already soaked into my jeans, so I might as well wait and get the shot. Then, a longhorn bull kicked green sawdust and gold stars all over me and my camera. Joy.
If this were a dream, I'm sure it would take years to unravel its meaning. Instead, it's a minute in the life of a PJ.
Enough for now,