I hear about it all day through. Fun.

The fan is roaring in the living room to move the smoke from my cigarettes.

Both cats are asleep with me, on eon the couch, one on the post, and Billy is on the floor.

We are chilling. Hubby is totally doing a thing for 19th century english poetry. He is looking at elizabeth browning again now. The end of the romantic period. Keats and Byron are now dead. And Hood and Browning go forth.