Honduras-engaging now.

Spooky and rolling on fog laden streets, buzzing at my hip. The television mutes and the nudity abides. I've not seen my familiar, not yet gone. When drips and drops slide and slither, I know that I need new rubber and blades, but the money's all gone. So I keep dragging, and hoping the meat doesn't spoil, and knowing that my relief will come when I summon. Summon. Seasons and paper. Olden and dust. Frightened cats and keyless genies. Viceroy. The bells. Within. I am here.