I once found a dead duck in the grass outside a Walmart parking lot. I put it in a bag and brought it home. On the tree stump between the driveway and the property next-door, I chopped off it's head. That is a deranged sort of thing to do in an urban residential area, and I did hope it freaked out the latest neighbours, who were creeps of some sort. Maybe they were the ones that set off a grill-full of firecrackers right outside our window. Future Antifa of America.
I had duck in Philly with some friends. The Asian-accented waiter described it as, "the pressed duck." And I said I felt sorry that the duck was so depressed. My friend let out a long, forlorn, "quaaack.." At another Philly restaurant, I had octopus. You can devour anything in Philly, city of carnivorous mobsters, with Dominion over all the land. I'd never eat an octopus, now, though. Ever since one beat me at Twister.
The plan is to go to the library to pick up something on hold; work on internet there, and rip CDs; then walk to Walgreen's via the tracks and back. Some days after that, another trip to Aldi's, and then I can set my sites on other goals, like getting new glasses and a new Primary. Presently, my mind is hobbled by fatigue. I have many posts to make, just not right now.