At this point I haven’t gotten home to try the chicory latte formula A. received in the mail. I’m still crawling along Bryant Street towards the Interstate 80 on ramp at Sixth Street, practicing my deep breathing and happy to have made it to midweek, wishing I was riding something small and light.
Once again my feast day and death day are here. At least they would be, if I were a saint. At this point, the only dragons are off on the edges of my periphery, limited to certain city blocks that no fire department, let alone other public safety agencies, can yet handle even with city hall’s help.
At this point I haven’t gotten home to try the chicory latte formula A. received in the mail. I’m still crawling along Bryant Street towards the Interstate 80 on ramp at Sixth Street, practicing my deep breathing and happy to have made it to midweek, wishing I was riding something small and light.
Once again my feast day and death day are here. At least they would be, if I were a saint. At this point, the only dragons are off on the edges of my periphery, limited to certain city blocks that no fire department, let alone other public safety agencies, can yet handle even with city hall’s help.
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