John Doe, the Mayor of Valle Crucis, catches an early morning nap.
It is a blah blah drizzly day in the mountains. I collected my mail from the Post Office at the Mast General Store and because I hadn't held audience with the Mayor of late, I inquired of his whereabouts. I was directed towards racks of red long johns, where tucked away in a safe corner of a dressing room, the mighty mutt snoozed, barely recognizant of my intrusion into his kingdom and lazy enough not to dignify my presence with any sort of reaction.
I am envious of John Doe's powers.
If I were in his paws, I would demand a winter's nap as well.
