Well, as Al says, all h-e-double-hockey-sticks is busting loose in Warshington as the IRS and points beyond are facing a deluge. Computers all soggy, Warshington floating back to its primal, marshy roots.
Speaking of soggy.
The Middling City is also awash in rain, disenabling any garden or mowing plans.
Not too sad about the latter, and neither are the saplings sprouting up amongst the grasses and weeds.
Tonight is a bennie for Squeaky Wheel and Pam informs me that she is doing more of her super-primo catering for it.
sidebar: Perfect day for Murmur, still an REM gem.
Saw a film crew today in the MC hard at work shooting a character exiting one of the city's ineffectual buses, two squadcars behind the bus, flashers ablaze. Two. Not one, two.
This is zealousness at its finest.
Decided to give myself an art assignment last night and it was to draw a dragon from memory. Try this.
So there I was with a page-sized creature that resembled the iconic dragon of the beloved club of yore, Pipe Dragon. This Perfect subconscious grabbed onto the rock memory of then and transmogrified it into this on the page.
Funny how the rock memory works. Rock memories, a terrible thing to waste.

Rue du Dragon Love.