if i ever meet you, i promise you, i will hand you your fucking ass. i would happily serve jail time for beating your pathetic, lilly-livered, privileged bitchface into the ground. in fact i'd turn myself in and wear that distinction as the badge of honor that it is. and no, i'm not joking.
on that note, today sucked. the farmers' market is held every wednesday and today (technically yesterday) was no exception, but it was a decidedly lesser affair. two vendors were absent on account of road closures and foot traffic was noticeably lower than normal. that thick, stagnant cloud of dark smoke blanketed the land all day, complete w/ a steady slow drizzle of ash and that creepy glow of orange light that coats us like an amber shellac. the stink of burning matter is becoming so commonplace we hardly notice it anymore; it's only that vague reserve of memory and the clenching in our throats that tells us this stench is most definitely not as right as rain. we went from hurricane-force winds to a dead fucking calm. and now this acrid, smoldering, claustrophobic canopy envelopes us.
juan, a kid in his early teens who works for one of the vendors, pointed to the moon and asked me, "is that normal?" inquiring about the piercing, martian hue the moon has been veiled in. "it's cuz of the smoke," i said.
"oh."
"why? you scared?" i joked.
"heh. a little."
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