It’s so foggy here today. Thick like the bricklayer’s head after a night of heavy drinking.
I wish I could understand hunting. Well, I understand it, but the thrill or whatever one gets from it. And why, I wonder, if you get a permit to kill deer, that isn’t enough to fulfill your need. You then need to go out and kill opossum or squirrels or bears or neighbours’ cats or coyotes or other human beings.
And why coyotes? I can see it if they are killing your livestock or children, but in southern Maine?
It seems to me, that such a lax system that promotes the use of guns by individuals who consider anything fair game and the thrill of the hunt never satiated is a truly pathetic system.
What if I, as a writer, slandered everyone I knew because it made me feel good? Surely I’d be unread.