Tomorrow morning, the Doctor is coming to put them down. Six of them. One diseased, two struck by lightning in separate storms, three others huddled together, dead from unknown causes. If they fall naturally - by high winds or ice storms or heavy snow - they threaten the power line, the roof and glass picture window, so they must be lassoed, slashed, dis-membered and caused to fall in the other direction, away from the house.
I feel like I should cover the mirrors and dress in black.
It's before 10pm, maybe I can still call it off.
What happens when Mr. Midtown moves to an isolated acre in the Great Northern Catskills? It's Inconceivable!
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