Time, time, time to sit and drink tea, dream great dreams. I like to play The Doors' Summer's Almost Gone around now, crushing the future into the past before it can beat me to it. Got me a mean face to prove that I'm an angry man, looking for fights and raring to road rage (you get out your golf clubs, I'll get out my baseball bat). Not enough time on the bicycle, that's part of the problem, and I'm the other part, incorrigifuckingble, hard-headed and forgetful.
Bless Summer. Bless her roiling clouds and 55F days. Bless her dew, and her potent dearth of rain.