This morning, I woke up with the morning I was beckoned out of bed to draw and draw at pints of water to assuage a thumping head. A hangover! A novelty! the punishment for iced coffee; and giving blood and pouring sweat onto the city's heavy heat. My stomach is a goldfish bowl my head an amniotic bank my brain like crepe my fingers feeling warm and more than slightly lank. While yesterday began with promise, talking of the beerlike sun that washes with a harvest gold through the town on everyone; gently coaxes girls to smiling asks the boys undo their shirts fiddles even with the gravest tempts them early from their work. Day soon found its own objection: Thickened air and upped the heat. Furthermore, the day unwisely lowered ceilings in the street. Hung so quiet, blank as air had our bodies in their vice. Under them, I did a bad thing; drank sweet coffee poured on ice. I've been woken with the morning birds like details call outside. Fingers sweat still blank the sky too immature to drink its pride.