Peace and Allah's mercy and blessings on you,
When I was younger, oh, let's say 5 years or so ago, I found a dog on the street. It was a mench of a dog, but who could tell with the lack of food and shelter, right? I'm saying the dog was a godawful mess, a train wreck. It's fur was caked with mud and vomit, it's nails were way over the line, write that down. It had a glint in it's eye. The other eye had been torn out by the ragged edge of a trash can lid or somesuch. But I took the little bugger in, fed him, clothed him (oh you should see the sweaters I tugged on that dog, poor bastard), patched up the eye, and he became mine. And I named him 911. But that has nothing to do with why I'm emailing you, Shane, on this fine brisk afternoon. This note is to let you know you did not touch the monkey with the cap you sent, Captain's Daughter. I am sure some other magazine will grab it up soon. Thanks for giving us a shot. Keep the nib to the notebook, and...
Keep it unreal,