i'm reading the evening road about a little group trying to get to a lynching in marvel, indiana, getting waylaid by speechmaker and an anti-lynching prayer meeting, getting likkered up on corn whiskey, and ridiculing a stray klansman. 100 pages in they're still 
in the middle of nowhere.
last night mister dragged his bed from the kitchen through the dining room and got stuck sideways in the hall. i helped him drag it into the guest bedroom and he danced around and humped on it then lay down and looked up at me with a satisfied look of accomplishment. later he barked a few times and looked down the hall and i got up and checked while he poked his head out. no sign. but he was acting strange after, and woke me at midnight. i thought maybe he was ill, maybe he was sleepwalking or part in a bad dream. he walked to the end of the bed between the bed and the closet little space, his nose to the wall. i worry about him like one of those kids things just keep happening to you can't prevent and feel so protective and hopeful and weak. but they're the strong ones. they keep us going. they develop soul from struggle.