No news from the mashup, no news from the Rhine and no news on the filter I ordered a while ago. Nothing about the shared cabride or the nightwatchman or any murderer that might or might not actually murder anyone. No news from the word ‘willy-nilly’ tho I’m hopeful and none from my reading of Camus. No news of witchcraft, starbucks or the human centipede.  The flowers in their respective bowers have nothing. The tropical depression a wash. The oil, once cornacopious, is but a residue on some unremarkable umbrellas. And for us, nothing but eighty six thousand plus seconds of unadulterated swaying. Here, have a rice crispie treat.