Worn

I broached the vanguard of daylight savings as I was tucked away with Mutis, adrift in that contemporary facility of the picaresque. It must have slipped my mind, the actual size of this compendium. The text is exactly 700 pages in length which allowed me the ample manuever of 400 pages. As noted, I read until two, which became three and my dreams were of voyages and cinema production.

This day has already been branded with recumbent sunshine and my own awe. I have listened to the Regina Spector album three times through and I went to the library as being bereft of a proper Catholic education, my only opinion of Chesterson's Father Brown mysteries was that the good Dr. Joel routinely cited such. It was the influence of Borges and that popist Waugh which tipped my hand in that direction. I have finished our federal returns and once I concluded the Byzantine state order, I may explore the Chesterson, walk outdoors or wallow in the systemic distension which is the Nuggets-Kings circa 2007. I felt that the fever had passed and it has, yet the lingering rustle in my throat only serves to anger.