rejectomorph | Counting Down

The shrill insects of late summer are chirring, the night is warm, and the waxing crescent of the moon is settling into the pines. Sluggo has been bribed with a few minutes of air conditioning. I did not get enough sleep. My brain is muddled. Reality insists on intruding into my thoughts. This evening, I had a discussion with one neighbor about our local thug. I'll try to catch another one tomorrow. It turns out that most of the block has had problems with the thug at one time or another. At the moment, there is probably nothing to be done about him, despite the evidence he shows of increasing instability. The whole thing will probably be up in the air for quite a while. I don't like things to be up in the air, unless they are birds or clouds or bats or insects. Abstractions don't belong in the air. Well, I'll have to put up with it, for now. If anyone has influence with Thor, a well-aimed lightning bolt would be much appreciated about now.

Also, I would like to say that