Tuesday is Tuesday. New albums and broken glass and a cat vase that never had a chance. Walk into the wind. Stoke the coals with some paper from the bag of charcoal and cook up two slabs of cow. The peppers and the mushrooms and the onions won’t make it to the stomach because of all the protein, but a nap thereafter makes perfect sense. Get some. Have one. Drink from the firehose. Take a picture by the river and share it with all your followers. Hiding in plain sight. Wandering in to two days off like its some kind of vacation afforded only to the wealthy. Donuts. Cowboy movies and shows about human tragedy. This is now. That was then. Filterless filters. Lost in the tall grass. Haven’t driven in days and it all feels natural. Normal. Blah. Blah. Blah. No more politics or a choice between to ancient old white guys? You pick. It’ll be a hot mess when either one of these old fuckers takes the wheel or keeps the wheel. The world has enough old white men making decisions for all. Can we just be done now?