I’m writing because it’s early. No church bells. My neighbor who walks his imaginary dog is the only person on the street. Take advice or do not take it, your heart keeps pumping.
I’ve always loved Racine. “Thank the Gods! My misery exceeds all my hopes!”
It’s a game I play, “Thank the Gods”—thank the Gods my guitar still has a string!” Thwacka thwack.
Of course the gods don’t care what we do with our miseries. Their guitars have all the strings.
Rain in a tin dish.