Autumn is in the air, even here in the deep, dark, desert. By “dark” I mean “deep”, of course.
A chill is in the air, which means that I feel alive again, once or twice every 14 months or so. It’s seriously great to listen to the air, and not hear the constant droning of overpriced air conditioning units reducing our bank account with every fan-turn.
But I’m not mad.
Taxes make me mad. Well that, and feral centaurs and drunk wizards named “Ghary”.