The sky's white, bleached by the heat. I hide inside with nowhere
To go. It's almost as if I've been sent to Las Vegas, a place
That I hate, by some government thugs. One can't rule out that
Occurring these days, but, for now, I am home, facing different
Torments: the niece I'm not fond of; her birthday's today; my
Wife's friend, who's whiney. She'll be here for dinner. The heat
Won't allow me to pick up my cocktail and take it outside
To obtain some relief. I won't have been shanghaid. I may wish
I'd been, as my spirits already are bleached.