july has, apparently run amok. "look to the sky!" i laughed, pointing southwest. "do you see?" nobody saw, because some could not see and some did not need to - they knew. blue, blue skies, blue skies and thunderstorms, grave digging and home surgery. no potential energy, just kinetic, decelerating to sleep. im sitting on the porch more, smoking more, more heavily. the years weigh on me, and my legs are paying the price. but i'm fighting for grins, struggling to laugh, even if it wears me out faster.
this is sinbad's house. and you my bitch.
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