The humidity left at midnight.

A hot steaming swampy mess.

When the heat is coming back?

Don’t know; it’s anyone’s guess.

The weatherman is on vacation.

With the journalists on the coast.

Who went extinct or just retired.

Do we need them? Seems the most.

Around here, we have these theories.

That sounds like bitchin and complain.

We are on strike down at the mill.

And there’s no going back again.

I’ve been writing, not much painting.

The paints supply it just got sold.

We are watching reruns on Netflix.

Not getting high, just feeling old.