When we got back from Cayucos everything was topsy-turvy, the weather, the house, our lives and the hood. There were neighbors to visit with fresh eggs in hand to sooth the parking disaster and the electrical emergency David Bonehead had caused. The Palace was its usual shabby self, overgrown lawn, weeds as high as the shrubs and the screamers of, Middle Eastern spit-gibberish, hoarse and muted in their speech. And no spit was spat by them in their hellos.
I think Drag Queen had a hell of hangover because the alley looked a bit untidy. Drag Queen loves her trash and usually, it's quite orderly in her stacks high above the trashcan lids. Village Idiot, I think, was lost for sometime, but that's not uncommon for him and usually found in a closet trying to repeatably open the same wall he mistakes for a door once it shuts him in. Lady of the Forest has been laying low for some time and so has Hag, probably both have done so because of the ruckus, while we were gone, caused by the Jihad Party Boys and the Palace battles between Mean Queen and Daddy.
But now a hush has fallen with the clouds and damp weather. The garden doesn't struggle for want of water. The chickens are alert and looking for bugs. The company has left and we now enjoy the quiet solitude that wet gray clouds give that lull you for the season of death that is soon to come.
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