Drifting, falling, floating weightless.

[cyrano]

It's raining, at least sort of. There's a delicate breeze. The hot tub is at a delicious 106o and I can move to various combinations of in and out. I have two speakers and an iPod in a ziploc bag playing my Greatest Hits playlist, and neighbors far enough away that I can sing along and only mildly annoy them. I have my old Kindle in another ziploc, because it has paddles to turn pages instead of a touch screen. Which means there's pulp-style motorcycle-riding punch-throwing action. (Catie, somebody's slacking off on your page. Stone's Throe isn't up there yet.) There's mostly-fresh fruit (from the store so mostly). I may just stay here until I fall asleep and drown.