Yesterday morning I called my favorite online purveyor of musician-grade heroin. We engaged in the politics of money and wares, numbers were exchanged, the deal was done. I followed the progress online, seeing my order approved last night, and then shipped this morning. I plugged the secret codes into UPS and, to my surprise, my gear is already out for delivery: Shecter Hellraiser C-1 guitar Bugera 6262 120w amp head and a 4x12 cabinet In other worlds, I took my puppy out into yard this morning. I pissed on the tree and he pissed on this sun-burnt bush, as is our custom. The fog was thick, obscuring the pasture and causing the trees to drip like light rain. The leash routine. The car ride routine. He is a great puppy, learning to behave and obey. The meet new ladies routine. The stand on the doggie scale routine. 54.9 pounds of black lab and (dare I say it?) pit bull. At some point today he is going to go to sleep and wake up sin cajones. The kiwiectomy. I waited a long time to make this appointment. A friend pointed out that I was probably, subconsciously, putting off making the appointment because of the nature of the surgery. True. Further, sometime during the night, in his glass-held aquatic world, the young betta Ulysses Lima passed from surface-breathing life to a cold and silent, grey-eyed death. We mourn you, U. Lima. So at some point today I will fill the house will a screaming metal solo in honor of my pup's lost balls and one dead fish.