October Game: Slow Start

Okay, here it is the 7th already, and I've got no game. Although I won't give up totally for this month, I'll admit that I'm likely to have poor writing percentage this season. I wonder what a November Game would look like. Then again, I might just back off to posting a bit of writing every day that I can--a poem, a brief prose poem, a shortshort fiction, etc. Maybe something like this:

The sun rises in Nashville and shines in two yellow strips on the wall of my hotel room. I imagine the hundred or thousand never-will-be stars that inhabit the sludge beneath the country music industry, imagine them as they fumble sleepily, drunkenly with keys at the doors of old houses and trailers, of cars made in the '70s, '80's, '90s. They crawl into creaky beds, into sleeping bags on couches, on floors, in back seats, pulling their dreams over their eyes as I watch these strips of sunlight brighten and slide down the wall to disappear into the floor.