~ Tuesday, April 10, 2001 ~

 

10:15 p.m. Boy, you really have to get up early -- early!! -- in the morning if you want to be a crack investigative daily free web columnist. I tell you.

I heard the men hammering and banging about around about 7-ish, but since I'd only just gone to bed a mere couple of hours before, I really wanted to believe that they were just there to -- adjust? That's it. They were adjusting the tent. With hammers and heavy planks.

I wanted to adjust my pillows, I tell you. But, groan. The camera was all the way down the stairs toward the far end of the house and it's cold in the morning here. I could hear the canvas swishing as they pulled it from the roof right next door, right beside my bedroom window. Those men work fast.

I got up. Reluctantly. The batteries were flashing. Running out of juice. Of course. To save time, I turned on the zoom zoom zoom as I clumped back up the stairs on frozen bare feet, and most of the thing was down by the time I got to the window, but I did get something of a picture of the flaccid remains of the tent.

I would think that the canvas is full of icky poisonous fumes, and that a hazmat suit might have been a good idea, but the several tent guys were wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts and they had the last bit of tent down and out on the early morning and thus still empty street and then folded up before I could even shake off last night's dreams and focus properly.

But, I was up. Took a couple more photos just to be sure.

Then I had some grapefruit juice. Battery fluid. Coffee.

Can't say I've really fully shaken awake the entire day, and I don't want to be paranoid or anything, but I've had a slight headache and a rheumy cough and just a touch of chills and fever, so who knows?

It's probably spring fever. I'm going to call around and see if there's a tent for this affliction. I'd prefer one that's softer in color, perhaps a nice dusty mauve ... there should be sandalwood incense pumped in, and it wouldn't hurt if the swarthy men who wrangle the fabric ... perhaps they might stick around a bit longer so they could fetch me some blackberry tea and a hundred silken pillows.

I'll also need a supply of those sweet little green grapes from Chile and a stack of cyberpunk paperbacks to thumb through.

No two grapes ever taste the same. That particular tidbit is the secret cure for what ails me, I'm sure.