Time seesaws in and out of focus. I am as an inebriate or a sober man with impaired vision.

I am become articulate in the diameters of my pint-sized dominion. In an act of compassion or (likelier) manifest disquietude*, one of the detainees proffered a tape measure to subsidise my efforts. But, as I told Mrs. Absolam, such accoutrement of augmentation would be cheating. What did humanfolk do pre-Industrial Revolution? They quantified with thumbs and speculation.

Yes, my fraternity, sorority and (insert gender, apparently)ity of segregationists†, these are addled times indeed. My eyes just flitted to the digital read-out. And 11:59 became 11:60.

Prelapsarian harbingers notwithstanding, Marje has been a sturdy dame. She has been my buoy in these choppy Covid waters. Bart fucking Joyles has naturally been an ...