I have this odd impulse to go tend chickens.
Normally the requirement that I go out and do that is a little annoying. This morning I miss it.
Had an uneventful trip and a quite pleasant evening, but I’m afraid all that staying in a quiet place for year after year has habituated me to just hanging around and doing more of that. So I couldn’t sleep – not, lately, that I need a lot of excuse to not sleep – and honestly having forgotten the date I was going to compliment Landlady on what a quiet neighborhood she had when midnight came around and some morons with 9mms stepped out on their patriotic porches and…
Curiously, to the sound of gunfire almost certainly not aimed in my specific direction and the possibly subliminal but probably imaginary sweet scent of expended powder I drifted off and finally did get four hours of solid sleep. So I’m in pretty good shape at the moment.
LB wishes to report that this place smells funny and he doesn’t have enough pee to fix it all by himself, but that he did have a good poop.
And now, in the sort of absurd coincidence that normally only haunts the plots of very badly written movies, I’m going to get set to have breakfast with Big Brother, who never leaves the tropical, roach-and-spider-haunted climes of southern Florida but who just happens to be in this very faraway city this particular morning.