Haze burnishes the evening sky and a chattering lawn sprinkler attracts birds who frolic and chirp, then flutter their wings to bejewel green leaves with water droplets. I hear Friday evening traffic rolling south, heading for the fleshpots of Chico. No potted flesh for me, though. I'll be staying here once again, doing the various things I do when Sluggo is too hot to handle. I might get some more digging out done, if there's nothing interesting on television. I have not yet found some of the old magazines I've been seeking in that long-buried bottom cupboard. Nostalgia awaits! I'm also going to try to get a glimpse of that small comet which is supposed to be visible in the southwest after sunset. The haze might interfere with that tonight, though. Now, post before Sluggo faints.