Funny thing about exiting the subway via turnstiles is you get the same moment of truth twirling towards that exit that I got taking the last cipro - - better get this right. The pressure relieved, the time calls for returning the ping(s).

Thirty hours of gosh, it feels good and no clean-up on aisle 3. Not yet ready to cycle the 'hood but boy, those shows are great. So's the vista which is almost managed-quality. The joy emanates from deflected attention to tendons and instead - cherchez la mendin'.

The up-grade that accompanies home-ICU-treatment evaporates, luckily, when the mo-jo starts appearing. The whole privacy/freedoms thing totally is an upgrade-killer that thankfully kicks-in the back-in-the-saddle. Today's wind-works was a simple dust-up on that detail to-do.

If humility is the trademark of the frotteurist then consider this -- I like my own blend of able/mawnbackness, said saturated with aplomb. That 10-day old ew-ew was so powerful it almost is worth locating the dial and setting it to Every 10 days. But I digress, ready for the next one.