Bit and Bridle

I flopped on my bed, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn my literature assignment, in hand. After reading into several lines, I became aware of a cold sensation around my ankle. Frigid metal dug into my foot until I was distracted enough to investigate. I reached down and pulled up a bit! An loose ring, jointed, snaffle. In my bed. Weird. The extreme coldness of it has officially reminded me to always warm the bit before I put it in my horse's mouth.

It is cold, but it doesn't smell at all like Autumn, so I feel cheated.

Have any of you ever started a first person-narrated novel without knowing what the main character's name is? That's sort of the dilemma I am in right now. Or write now.

Back to Huckleberry Finn...
"But it warn't no time to be sentimentering."

Or here's why I titled that post, Fog:
"For nothing don't look natural or sound natural in a fog." I think my brain is still foggy. I'd better go study my Euclid or some Dialogues of Plato to clear it.