Writing Past Midnight #3

I think it’s name is Fred. The tropical storm that just woke me up. I could be wrong because I’m not glued to the weather reports these days, no these days I’m more concerned with the pain in my legs that accompanied the pulse of the wind and mind cluttering sounds of large heavy rain drops.

Notice the use of “it’s in the beginning? That will stir up the left-right wing stew that boils on the evening news. Something so delicate should just simmer don’t you think?

Fred is here, but only in the outer bands, those arcs’ in the sky that are caught up in powerful…