Tonight in the store was lonely and black and sucked. G'night cretins. The gate is closed.
The dogs are afraid of the wind that is cold and howling outside. There is something cold and howling inside as well, and the shapes have synchronized and come together and cold and howling seems altogether appropriate for the occasion.
I can't watch the ball drop. For the same reason I can't watch those talking heads blab on about something worthless to pass the time until the new year.
A rotten end to a rotten year.
(Except for the creative output.)
