Knocking on the Ninth

Our labors earn some of us a three day weekend and we mark summer's passing, even though there are three weeks left on the calendar. That is the case, more so, I believe, in southern California where the dusty days blaze away long after the rays linger in the haze with no relief for the dismayed. Bone Jour Boutique
Sit up! Speak!
Beware of Greeks
Let the fat man wet his beak
If you honor the winning streak
Things will be better next week
And you dig it, you little freak

My spirits rise with the moon which is a comfort I can't explain
Survival is different in the west
I'm learning about trucks
When the next rain comes, I'll drink champagne
or the Spanish equivalent
Time to manufacture some runs
Moderate brilliance is nothing for which to apologize
Breathe deeply, when you're able
Dodge a bullet or tempt a tiger
Those are my words of life, Ten Bears, or my words of death
Maybe I should rethink and reload

Intermission

At the turn of a coin I am enlightened
The best women increase my opacity
But I accept the danger
Before thinking a few moves ahead
With a Latin intensity that would please my forefathers
I can only suppose
So I fight the good fight
And remember the working man
Without resembling him too closely