Is summer really supposed to be this boring? I feel like a hound dog. In the south, with no mystery yet to come upon me. Hot dogs passing over my nose. And there are two cats here to boot. They contracted me to hunt raccoons, but I want mysteries. I'm tired of myseries. I'm wrinkled up like an old tee shirt. I'm all wrung out too.
And unless I'm chasing a raccoon up a tree I'm tired and depressed. Maybe more people are tired and depressed than I know about!!!
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