Did I mention that I dreamed a plot the other night? Most stories I dream are complete nonsense when I wake up, but this one actually made sense. And it charmed me, really, so much that I can't get it out of my head even though I'm working on something entirely different.
The miracles began on the day Riley Drummond began having problems with his telephone. The instrument turned balky, interrupting his conversations and blasting his ears with intermittent blasts of static. Though in months past he had experienced trouble with a gasping air conditioner and a groaning freezer, those appliances continued to pull their weight, cooling customers and freezing the ice cream sandwiches and popsicles so beloved by the little ones who regularly followed their mothers into the Siloam Drug Store.
Because the telephone was an important lifeline between Riley and his customers—or, more precisely, between the pharmacist and sick folks—this irritating illness would simply have to be diagnosed and repaired at the first possible opportunity. So Riley called the phone company and, in between bursts of white noise and spatters of random rock music, requested a visit from the first available technician.
Ta da! And that's all I have for now.