Trying so very hard to make it rain out here on the Piedmont. Over puppet-showward they're getting inches. Bastards. Here, in the land of the High Sabbatical and the Unreachable Summer and the Trimmed Shed Windows, we need tomato rain. Them academics—all they need is footnotes. Come on, rain. I sprinted through an 8:15 sunset pushing the mower just so I wouldn't have to mow a soaked lawn tomorrow. Make me look like I knew what I was doing. Make me look like I understand the sky. Make me look like I show up here at the Local every now and then.