I had a delightful morning because I killed a guy last night. I was sitting by my wife with my dogs at my feet and I did it.

I knew his name, what he looked like, and how he took his coffee.

I killed him with a chicken coop. Blunt Force Trauma.

There aren't many places when you can confess to a murder. A writer's blog is certainly one of those few. Delicious. I had a vulture's quiet smile all morning.   

I also dreamed about my own version of the hand of glory found inside a cavity in a book. My friend who is a bookseller had purchased a collection and some odds and ends came with it. Inside one of those odd bits: the hand.

The mechanism of the actual severing was the point of interest. I suspect I have read several takes on this dismemberment theme but I cannot recall the specific sources right now. No matter. It will come.