Sniffles diminishing, 1.75 quarts of Simply Orange downed. Cold as excuse to buy orange juice. A hot summer cold.
Work goes on, work 2 goes on, photo night-class is one closer to eclipsing, and on and on. Letters posted, now in the hands that handle the nation’s post. Payments and inquiries alike.
On it goes amidst dreams of (and bountiful background-image reminders of) faraway enclaves of density and wonderment. Of abundant opportunity and the mysterious whims of markets and personal abilities that may conquer them enough to sustain a self.
Downward to sleepdom.