Don't you know that Pluto, Roman god of the underworld, is really pissed right now? You know that the other gods, Jupiter and Mars and so forth, are totally hassling him. This would not be a good day to be in the Roman underworld.
I'm not having the best day either. I didn't realize this section of the sidewalk on this busy street corner in this large, bustling, metropolitan city was newly poured concrete. So I stood here in my stylish, grey suit with my black briefcase in one hand and my newspaper folded under the other arm and the concrete hydrated and hardened around my perfectly polished Wingtips. Now I'm buried up to my ankles, halfway up my thin, black, Italian, silk dress socks. I'm trying my best to look nonchalant and confident, but I'm beginning to wonder how I'll get out of this situation with my dignity intact and my clean-cut hair untousled. I'm sure everything will turn out fine, but one question keeps running through my mind: I wonder what time the Morlocks come up out of the sewers and start eating decent, hard-working, American people? I hope I'm not still here when that happens. But mostly I hope no one from the office sees me like this.
That previous paragraph was entirely fabricated. (Except for the part about the Morlocks.)
I've mounted the driver's seat of my car on the roof and extended the accelerator and break pedals up here as well. I didn't move the steering wheel, however, because there was no room for it once I installed the computer table for my laptop. To steer I'm just leaning one way or the other. So far so good, though I keep getting pelted with little pebbles and bugs, and the wind really becomes a factor at about 75 miles per hour. (I'm guessing at the speed, since I can't see the speedometer from up here.) I hope nothing hits my laptop. I have to tell the truth, I think, in hindsight, that this was a terrible idea.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
