for douglas adams, wherever you are
the long dork teatime of the soul
The famous beagle author settles down at his typewriter atop his doghouse.
A canary sits by and smokes a bubbler.
The beagle types.
"It was a dork and stormy night..."
giggles at post, rolls over, sleeps with pillow in the dork.
(all this reminds me sooo much of Pamuk's description of his youth in Istanbul.)
