My fingers are numb from

My fingers are numb from the cold. The truly sad thing is, I'm sitting in an office in Miami. It's the freaking air conditioner set to meat locker that has me in a sweater and polar fleece sox over my brogues. Red ones, for those of you who keep track of my shoes. With neon green sox. Here's a rhetorical question: why do my coworkers insist on saying things to me like: "You need to tell your boss to do..." or "You need to make your boss do ..." Hey! If he's my boss, then, by definition, I'm not the one doing the telling what to do. Get it? See, crap runs downhill. I'm downhill. From everyone it seems, some days.

Yep. Those are actually

Yep. Those are actually today's shoes. How come nobody seems to understand the concept of gridlock as it applies to traffic? If there's no room for your car, it isn't going to help matters to drive into the intersection and then block access for the next group of people. And since when did the law become 2X2 through a stop sign. Back in the dark ages, when I took driver's ed, it went like this: First person at the intersection goes first, and then everyone else goes through, one at a time, from the right to the left. Right of way, get it? Here in Miami, maybe because there are so many boaters, people seem to drive according to the laws of gross tonnage. The more tonnage you have, the more right of way you have. And since most people are in SUVs, pickup trucks and minivans, that leaves people like me in the dust. Literally and figuratively.

Hello. Is this thing on?

Hello. Is this thing on? Tommy can you see me? Tommy can you hear me? Can I get a witness? How about a template....

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