Back at the Komisary, the hot air hangs to the tune of Suzie's folk singing. Excellent atmosphere for pain of minor defeat.
For 2 days now, the sky has been brown with smoke from a distant brush fire. Smells a little sweet like sage. The sunsets continue to become more and more stunning. Maybe the smoke will seed the clouds and bring rain to harden the playa floor.
The whole camp is going out to Frog Pond again tonight. This time, we'll go after dinner. That will save us from the potential mess on the floor of the bus. Yes, last time the unexpected bumps sent the leftover beef stew flying all over the floor and all over Hazmat's back.
I'm losing the concept of weekends again. I'm just starting to regain the concept of personal time. Seems everything is done in groups so you never have to think about what to do next. Sorta like the military or something.
BUNNIES! SUICIDAL BUNNIES! SUICIDAL BUNNIES!