Touching base with people who made donation story requests: I have not
This morning as I walked toward crumpets, I thought: "Those people who acid-etch shop windows must die," and "Maybe pigeons really *are* aliens among us," and then wondered, what if the government had a random telepathic sanity-checker. Would I pass checksum? Not likely. Half the time I'm thinking about men having sex--the breathy porn soundtrack of my head--and the other half I'm filled with neurotic, paranoid, depressive radio chatter. Someday soon a black SUV with government plates is going to pull up screechingly to the curb and I'll be hustled off to a holding cell. I'll miss some of you guys. The rest of you will be in the adjoining cells.
