Another chilly Fall morning – in other words, perfect.

Still working out a reading routine, the Goldilocksing brought to pages and to time and all that. Current question: is reading like running, where I aim for a certain set of miles, or is it like writing, where I am for time spent?

Rewatched the 1945 DICK TRACY film for the first time in 25-30 years. Solid hour-long B-flick with my favorite cinematic Dick Tracy, Morgan Conway; I'd forgotten how many strange – and wonderful – characters populated the film (though Junior still grates – even though he did manage a modicum of utility).

Might have found more clarity on The Main Thing: only one way to find out. Trying not to let myself have that second cup of coffee until I go back to work, so since I want that cup of coffee, I'd best get back to work.