Something we have in common.
All night, I'm thinking about the beach.
Once in a while, a car goes by on the road a block west. The tires make a sound like distant breakers.
I don't know what Sluggo thinks about. Evil computer thoughts, I suppose.
The strange thing is, I'm flooded with energy, but I can't focus on anything. I'm thinking that I need to do something new.
The house has not yet given up yesterday's heat, and the morning birds are chirping in the new light. It will be hotter today. It will be difficult to sleep.
I can't get to the beach.
I need a thunderstorm.