Omens

All sorts in the street, out in the world. Motorcyclists circling my block, a loud and angry murder. Ants rising out of the earth. A perpetual ambulance. Bird shit like a swath across my street, failure of imagination. I saw a truck with a picture of a truck on it. The smell of grain from the looming temple of Ishtar down the block, capped and bound by the flag on its roof.

I ascribe to these things no un- or super- or preter- natural significance, but I respect things they evoke from the habitat of human community. I made an offering today, tried to appease the narrative of my neighborhood. I'm taking myself out of it temporarily, 'till I feel up to going toe-to-toe.

I hope you're OK, Mr. Chartreuse.