The Monday that feels like a Sunday. The churches are open but no one is serving; the radio hosts are the weekday people. For all intents and purposes, a Sunday. At some point tonight, when the sky is dark enough, the federal government will paint the sky bright with dynamite and fire. We blanched yesterday when that boat powered its way through an orca pod, but nobody thinks about what fireworks do to the nervous systems of birds and cats. Night time. Sight unseen. The Monday that feels like a Sunday.
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