Jim Chow’s ancient station wagon lumbered down the road just as it had done innumerable times before. The windows were down. Jim enjoyed the breeze created as he drove along. Little scraps of paper and debris were caught in miniature, invisible eddies inside the vehicle, dancing. While the air was not cool, even at this near dawn hour, it was not stifling either. Soon it would be. The heat no longer sneaked up, gradually appearing like the smile of the Cheshire cat. These days it advanced loudly, an approaching army. Most motorists simply left their windows up all the time, slaves to the air conditioning.
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Well, I’m at home for the week due to some possible (but not likely) cardiac issues. As I operate Heavy Machinery, my doctors are a bit overly cautious when I begin to get dizzy and have chest pain. I explained to them that I had been feeling fine till the cocaine/hooker/donkey bender in Tijuana last weekend, but still they want me to take a stress test on Friday. So here I am and there you are reading the outpourings of my bored (but probably not broken), lonely heart.

In no particular order, some thoughts running through my mind like Haitian looters at a Sam’s Club:
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