I dunno about where you are, but here in Silver Lake it’s a crinkily parched 95 degrees, eerily quiet and disconcertingly still. Not even a breath of wind. And the sunlight through the smoke is painting everything in this freakish orange hue. It’s endoftheworld stuff that’s *this* close to tripping me. Makes me yearn for the hermetically sealed climate-controlled confines of my office. Fucking headcold.
What the hell’s next? A tornado? An earthquake? Forget I even thought that.
But as if things ain’t crazy enough already, for the past hour there’s been this scratching beneath the floor directly around my deskchair. I stamp my foot and it stops for a moment before starting up again. Maybe one of the cats got into the basement? My luck it’s probably a big rat. Or better yet: zomb [email protected]#fd