The Grain Of Gain

I feel that the inertia of my holiday lost its way, especially over the hurdles of the home inspection and the advent of the playoffs. I have been reading the Victor Serge the last two days and while I can't quite stomach overtures to cloak and dagger anymore (Tree of Smoke gave me a botulism of empathy) I feel the focus leaving the delightfully sordid streets of Paris and sweeping eastward to the besieged Leningrad. The foggy recollection of Tibet was effective.

I am keeping the Braudel at hand, though the nibbles allowed are minor.