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That was pretty much how I have always wanted hallowe'en to be.
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A man staggered in from a horse fall, and died at the main entry stairs.
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The medium saw on the way in there's a girl ghost by the pear tree.
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Paranormalists in the house. First order of operations: tea.
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Concerned the root beer forgotten in the fridge in SF will explode.
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Sorting pantry and kitchen, I found a bomb from 1941.
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Tabloidist housemate has paranormalists set to ghost hunt our house...!
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Clover flowers from the giant's causeway. Apples from the tree outside.
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I have everything I ever wanted. Except coffee, and my cat.
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Couldn't get tickets to a poetry event tonight. THEY. SOLD. OUT.
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School starts next week. For now I'll study Scotland. From our bedroom window! ~_^
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Siver keys, sea salt streets, peat brick fires, and standing room only for poems.
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Holy camoly. Apparently, moving is my happy hour...
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Alone in someone else's apartment, wearing someone else's socks.
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The economy is collapsing. Could you make do with flour and thread?
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Throwing poetry out our windows. A breeze runs through the apartment.
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Okay. I'll admit, two men who're four times as large as me are stronger.
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Strange, seeing people for blocks walking around with things I left outside.
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Down to the five four three two one. Feeling oddly ahead of the game.
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Blunder: a combined breakfast-lunch-dinner, eaten only when moving.
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