I’m working on a new short story based on one of my own experiences. I’m going to name it “Night in a Minnesotan Mud Room.” The hero is going to walk his belle out to her car, watch her drive away, then return to the mud room to find the door to the interior of the house closed and locked. The rest of the story will be an internal monologue as he whiles away the very cold next three hours in naught but his shirt sleeves and trousers. I can’t promise it will be very exciting, as the cold was a little mind-numbing. Sarah isn’t going to show up until ten or so, so I reckon I’ll go get some sleep.