Friday?

Air temperature 57F, dew point 51, light wind, mostly cloudy. Headed out on an errand soon, then staining the new threshold of our front door because we can vent the fumes. Neighbors don't seem to remember that trash day is delayed by the Monday holiday . . .

(no subject)

Paving a little alley down the street, full afternoon of diesel growl and backup-alarm beeps.

(no subject)

That sentence had enough insider references and jargon that it meant nothing to me. And that was probably the intent . . .

(no subject)

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.