It's nearly midnight as I write this. It's about 80 degrees, humid, with not a breath of wind. This is July weather. The neighbors from down the street have seen fit to take their domestic problems up to our corner- "Well you can tell that MF that he can F hisself and..." -and on and on, the MFs and the Fs form a cadence, become a rap tune, as it blends into the other sounds of
Something is going on.