you get the feeling stuff like this happens all the time, and it does. it happens, and it's like a stone in water, a moment later you just see the surface, until the next fatality hits. i was saying to tamara that stabbing happened right there where harold washington lived, across from the giant parrot colony, now vanished. she said i watch what's going on and then i have to take a time out, but i know it's still going on. i said i tune out of democracy now and tune into the local murder news, which is quaint feeling by comparison, and strangely feels more like a story i can get my mind around. she asks about mister, was he always like that or was he trained, both i say, he was like that but he was a miscreant on the outside. as we crossed the road nervously at the curve coming off the brutal highway that goes like a steel nerve combusting through the parkland we talk about being harassed and threatened by autopilots. i even kicked a car she says sheepishly. ha, i kicked many, i say. makes mike and me want to find a cabin of peace in nature somewhere. me too! but my luck if i found a mountain paradise they'd be there in a minute to lop the top off or log it to death or the water would be poisoned by fracking. and so on. but we have our idylls with the dogs in green space everyday and compare notes and share dog delight.