“It must be Thursday,” said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer, “I never could get the hang of Thursdays.” – Douglas Adams in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

The fan hums hypnotic over at the edge of the room
and a fat fly buzzes back and forth in nonsensical flight
(how can a bug that big fly for so long without ever seeming
to stop to rest its tiny wings?)
clicking of keys and shuffling of pages punctuated
occasionally by the distant ringing of a phone somewhere…
outside, the air is humid and hot
it seems that everything is torpid
and begs for the occupants of this day
to take naps, but we really don’t have the time
to sleep when bulldozers are racing
to destroy your house before
the world implodes.


a bit of feeling lazy combined with a bit of Douglas Adams.  Posting this for dVerse OLN