So, we finally got around to giving Q a real name last night. It came down to either Quimby or Quingo. We thought that Quingo sounded more badass than Quimby so we went with that. Then as night wore on, we decided that Quingo might sound more red shorts than biker.

Quingo, I maked you this cake.

But, what are you going to do? It’s his name. Plus, it suits him. Especially the way we wiggles his ears when he is drinking from his bottle or the way we wags, not swishes, his tail. We keep having this thought that he me might not actually be a cat.

Yesterday, we got a small consolation prize. After weeks and months of bad news and bad stuff, I found something yesterday on my ride home that was a very mild comfort. I guess you’ve got to take the good where you can get it, right? Anyways, I found an almost brand new pair of women’s Chacos lying on the side of the road as I was riding. The weirdest part is that they are Pancake Land’s size. They do however reek of patchouli. That is no matter. If the hippie karma gods wanna shower us with a patchouli rain, we’ll let them these days.

Now is the time for the packing up of the laptop. I’ll write again from somewhere on the road. Wish us luck. More soon. ~SC