Agitarius | Day 61

Running On Empty With Gummed Internals And Sacks Of Pepperoni

Thursday, March 28th (Moon in Fisch to Scirrociis, 2:20 a.m.)

Woe, for this is the day of strife that has long plagued civilization since the age of a voluntary, capitalist workforce. The day when your washing machine grinds to a halt due to immoderate use; its motor tired and smelling like burning wires; its internals gummed with the excessive soot particulate and meat grease of a six-year-old’s limited wardrobe of heavy wool. The day when a father figure realizes he did not thaw the full rack of lamb for that child’s school lunch. The regrettable day when a dinosaur T-shirt and a paper sack of pepperoni threaten your freedom and family. The day when you have run out of options and have to make do with the bare minimum, make excuses, and make firm plans and promises for the day to come. The day before payday. Your lucky number is 1/8, but probably closer to 1/4 since you can always drive much further than expected in an unremarkable sedan after the fuel gauge bottoms out at “E”.

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