Smells Like...

Snow? Sleet? It's not winter, but winter's come in. Sort of. Kind of. Rain coming. Maybe. Tomorrow's a good day to pull the watchcap on and plant the last flat of pansies. The rock opera that is the NYC novel conversation rolls on. Let's not talk about it. I haven't had a shower in two days, and I didn't sleep last night. Can't complain. Can't. Rock opera or no, the whatever sort of opera it is is taking place in NYC. So, you know.

Here in 27408, we're having weather. We haven't been reporting on it too thoroughly of late here at ANYLF. We'll do better, I promise. We need to have some kind of a staff meeting. Whip the troops into shape. Rain's riding in. Perhaps a freeze. Time to start taking stock of what's outside again: Certain of the fancies want to give us a chilly inch of rain tomorrow night. We're dangerously close to a pot of chili on the stove. Coffee with brandy late afternoon. Tea all day long. Too much coffee every morning. Grilled cheese.

Hey, November. We're not there yet, but we're damn close.