94. In Case I'm too Wrung Out to Write...

We're back in Davis, Dearies! Megan's mom drove us down today and we spent the whole day unloading our storage space and carting all our crap back to our apartment. Good lord, so much crap. I will tell you about it in detail, but not tonight. I'm too hurty and tired. I did, however, on the way down the mountain, write a sonnet for tonight on the off chance that I didn't feel up to writing one now. So that's what you get.

One last look at that wretched hive of scum and
 villainy that is Mos Eisley. I will miss you, Reno.

Is this the sonnet that you see before you?

Then things have gone, not as I'd hoped, but thought.

I'll dish the dirt if you think it won't bore you:

my guesses as to what this day hath wrought.

We got to Davis, then went on to forage

and find some food 'fore hunger made us faint;

we then went to unload our public storage.

I thought we'd do it in one trip: how quaint.

From space to dolly, elevator, truck

at least two times before the back was filled.

At least three full truck trips, or two with luck;

with sun and heat, a gallon's sweat we spilled.

To tired and sore to put a poem in place

I wrote this one this morning, just in case.

In fact, it was four truck trips, and we only ate afterward. We have so many things now.