Spring ended a week after it began, lasting four more days than last year. Maybe global warming skipped my block. Either that or the ozone ditched on its property tax bill again. Can’t say I blame it. Either way, warm weather cometh, putting me at odds the environment.

See, I like it cold–somewhere between nippy and lukewarm. If the thermostat never breached sixty-five, I’d be a happy boy. Beyond ninety degrees, my coherence drops off sharply. At a hundred, I pack it in, or risk being arrested for babbling in a public place again. That’s a slight exaggeration. Officially the charge was loitering. I strongly disagreed. What’s wrong with building an igloo with boxes of ice cream in the freezer section? The aisle badly wanted for a display. Nobody with teeth eats Neopolitan ice cream these days anyway.

On the plus side, NJ summers are far milder than the South, so I have an easier ride than some of my friends. Not sure how they survive.

I have another jump scheduled soon. Because I need a good scaring.

Meantime it’s edits. Oh, how I curse Oriana’s pen.