Hey kids, I'm coming out of my intermittent hermithood to let you know I sent off a possible Gabbo submission to your email, if you want it and it's not too late. Would talk more and attempt something witty and/or loquacious, but am supposed to be getting into a hot car in about 15 minutes for a whirlwind trip up, up over the mountains and back to the burnt landscape I once called home ie. Central California. Yeah.

My Rushmore summer is winding down to an end . . .
I'm back from another day making pizzas and grilling burgers at the snack bar and am too tired to put the effort into writing that I'd like.
Yesterday some of my teachers from LaCreole Middle School and the pastor of the Dallas Lutheren Church (who's daughter has been in my classes since kindergarten) stopped by the Freedom Grill on their way back to Oregon after digging the Sturgis Motercycle Ralley. We ate lunch together and somehow had a decent conversation, even though I haven't talked to any of them in years. I don't even remember what we talked about, but I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. oh! I did find out that Mr. Schaffer, my old art teacher, sweats when he eats pepper. To any Dallas kids reading this: also in attendence were Mr. Buckingham (who taught computers) and Mr. Lyle (who I never had, but he acted like he knew me anyway) and Dave Pederson. To Kerianne Pederson: it's doubtful that you are reading this, but just in case, I saw what your dad bought you from mount rushmore, though I'm not sure if it's supposed to be a secret or not, so I won't tell you.
That night we dyed Erin's hair, and she used the leftover dye to temporarially tatoo a lightning bolt to my left arm.
Starting tomorrow everyone starts leaving.