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Friday
April 24, 2026
 

 
being laid up with a torn calf muscle is
as good excuse as any to while away the
afternoon reading a literary noir about the
importance of friends
, kept company by flies.
i had just settled into the tranquil garden when
our retired neighbor fired up the gas mower and
turned diminishing circles on the lawn, spiraling
towards me. wasn't until i scrambled to get my
crutch and chair out of his way that i noticed
there were no clippings flying or fresh
mown scent: he just wasn't cutting it!
the lapped edges of
                      pages pulp noir reprint monumental library steps
                      ascending under spring sun to text etched in
                      letters the size of billboard advertisement as far
                      as this fly is concerned. but the words are flat!
                      at least flyshit casts a shadow! touch grass, my
                      ass, we live in a world of insect excrement!!!