The Room

At one o'clock eastern standard erratic New England summer time, in the cold dead of June (question mark), showers and gravity tears a hole in your rain-soaked brown paper bag--nice way to hold it from the top you lunkhead (to myself)--lunch noodles and soup everywhere into the dismal Greenfield marina comic strip afternoon, do I mind? Nah, just buy another lunch, perpetuate this lunch cart lunch counter lifestyle, get wet, go back to work, lunch, read books, turn on the stereo, climb walls, learn to play the recorder.
Just no notes.