Elegy to the Spanish Republic #110

Now we are just completely fucking around ...

I may need more coffee.

Did I mention that after several telephone calls to The Mothership, my New York Times finally started arriving?  How hard is it to deliver a fucking newspaper?   When I opened the door and I could feel the paper-person's resentment simmering, rising out of that little blue bag the way heat rises from a manhole cover in late August in New York.

Here's to happier Times.  If you're with me.