Bereft (unless you can be Batman)

Cotopaxi, schmotopaxi: SFO and the Airporter have stolen my wife away.

She is gone on business for four days. To Albany, New York. And without me.

Feels weird, being in the house alone. And not in a good way. I have bread to bake, boxes to crush, hummingbirds to feed, all sorts of stuff to do this morning, but I'm all unfocused and anxious. On top of being anxious on my own account.

You know that thing where you tell yourself, uselessly, to get a grip?

Yeah, that.

What the shop wasn't called

Nihilistic Iron Works

(Actually, I swear it was, first glance. But of course I looked back, and by then the train had moved, and from this different angle it was called Artistic Iron Works. Which is just so disappointing it can't conceivably be true.)