Another silver-gray pall lops over the peninsula. Traffic lollygags through intersections as if the weather had pushed a slow motion button. The humidity is oppressive. Philip Glass chimes, Definition, from speakers hovering somewhere around my knees; somehow appropriate to the overcast heavy, dull drape of an atmosphere. There will be no heading up the river on this murky sojourn. Push back the shroud before it drowns the heart.
Shut Up And Read
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