BACK TO FAIRGROUNDS

After several weeks confined to my house, and by my house I mean a tiny two-room hovel, if you're allowed to count a bathroom as a room, and in my case I feel thoroughly justified in doing just that, since it functions more as a rumpus room with a toilet, the band of rebellious tissues in my lower back, my left leg, and that, um, in-between place, have not exactly abandoned their mutiny, but faced with unexpectedly stiff opposition by government forces, have retired to lick their wounds and bicker over which of them is best-equipped to bring the host organism to its knees once and for all, since General Sacroiliac proved unable to administer the coupe de ville, and I persevere, even to the point of, and here I'm actually getting to the point, which will no doubt please those of you who find me irritatingly attention-deficient and who were initially excited to hear of my newly-installed Complaint Department but who were deeply disappointed to find themselves wading through a zillion photos of the seashore taken by someone who clearly could use a visit to the ophthalmologist, venturing out as far as Fairgrounds Coffee, which is several blocks farther away from aforementioned hovel, which I have named Shangri-La, or more optiimistically Nid d'Oiseau d'Amour, a distance which placed it outside my pitiful limping-and-crawling perimeter, a boundary which enclosed, however, the local Starbucks, to which I have painfully and regularly hobbled once I looked in the mirror and discovered I was taking on the skin color of one of those crawly things you find teeming underneath a rotting log in the forest, and if you do find such things, that means you don't live around here, because we have cleverly replaced our forests with townhouses, condos, and karate studios, thereby keeping those translucent crawly things at bay, we hope, and I want to add that I have missed the scruffitude one finds at Fairgrounds vs. the attitude of the typical patrons of Starbucks, who believe that one should put on a clean shirt and refrain from having holes punched in unlikely body parts before venturing out for a half-caf latte. So I thought I'd just let you know.