Levy Loop

It's 23°F at 11:11 a.m. There was enough traffic yesterday to turn the streets slushy. They are now consequently covered with ice, and as slippery as streets get. It took me 38:25 to walk the Levy Loop. It's a bright blue morning, with that inexplicable pastel hue of cold days. The few people I saw driving, or scraping their driveways, or sledding, all smiled and waved. I exchanged a few sentences with three of them, including my postman, and stopped to talk with a a man named Paul for about fifteen minutes. It had been more than two years since I'd seen him, and he told me he'd since learned we have at least two mutual friends—Tiny Tim Biggs of the Hash, and a fellow I worked with at the paper. Paul has a cat named Max, who I have occasionally stopped to pet for the last ten years, and a new one named Taj, who is also friendly, and one of the prettiest cats I've seen. They walked around us throughout our conversation.

OVERHEARD
"No, but I cain't say how glad I am that you called. Hell, I'd done  forgot all about the game."
—Travis Walker, whose telephone number is one digit different from Bob Marston's. I misdialed as I called Bob to discuss the SEC Football Championship Game. After Travis answered, I asked if he were watching the game. He said, in a hillbilly draw, he wasn't, for some reason he'd forgotten, but, by god, he was going to turn it on "rat now." I asked if he were Bob Marston (I thought for a moment he was Turd, trying to be funny). He laughed and gave me his OVERHEARD

PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THIS MEANS
"A dream is for those who sleep. I live mine."
—Pitbull, on a commercial for Dr. Pepper (I'm kidding, sort of. I know what Pitbull means in the same way I know what Rainwater means when he says, "The cupboard is out of ammunition."