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Thursday, May. 22, 2003 / 6:42 p.m. ~Wet~ I'm inside, it's dry, the air conditioning is on, but I can smell the wet outside, or the memory of it. I can smell my car's interior, I can feel the stickiness of my steering wheel, I can see the mushrooms growing beneath the pines by the dumpster, I can feel the rain coming through my umbrella, and when I close it and pull it inside the car I can feel it dripping on me. I can see the clouds filled with rain, threatening to open, to produce the deluge I know is coming. The mountain is obscured by the clouds, the clouds hold the smog over the highway like a blanket of filth. I brushed my hair this morning, something I seldom do, and I looked like a familiar character from an old Saturday night skit comedy show, but with longer hair. Or I could have been a cast member of the musical 'Hair', or I could've been anyone but me. The humidity, the wetness, the constant threatening sky, the rain, the threat of rain, the moist, damp, dripping air, is having a decided effect on me. Cost of the War in Iraq
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