Late January, water fills the air.
Bugs swimming on human skin, grazing, nipping at dead epidermal cells, probing deeper for summer blood.
Overnight minimums equal fair weather maximums. Sound sleep, a psychotic dream.
The busyness of another year ramps up. Minors getting ready for term one of the prescribed curriculum, majors plotting a win on the economic battlefield, if they’re lucky enough to be enlisted. Every minute counts now we’re paid by the minute. Every minute accountable.
Be productive, economic growth depends upon it. Economic growth trumps everything.
The sweat on your brow, on your collar and between your thighs, the lubricant for having a go.