One putrid Tuesday, two young children who lived next door, Bullion and Egg Cream Pulpit, 5 and 7 respectively, began throwing small, dense, greenish spheres at us as we thrashed out our new song, "Spools of Thread." What were these strange painful spheres, we wondered. They turned out to be mutant limes growing on the thorny stunted lime tree on the far side of the Pulpit's house. Ouch!
In response, the following morning, we tried to light their house on fire with damp matches, to no avail.
I want to tell you that I am too uplifted to feel depressed. That is my new way of living for now. I have reached a point of self-actualization combined with acute awareness of reality. It is somewhat sunny. The sun is streaming in the grubby, pee-stained windows of the men's room in a peculiar way.