I Singe The Body Electric

The local utility company — who shall remain nameless, lest by calling out their name I remove some portion of the hex/evil eye/blackcatbone/curse I’ve called down on their heads — has seen fit to disconnect me from the world of electrons for a portion of the day. This missive might disappear without notice when halfway complete; if you’re not reading this, now you know why.

I went out into the street, and followed the trail of folderol to the fellow on the pole, who I discovered somewhat less ebullient than the fellow in the picture. He grunted about the dark and bloody secrets of unannounced transformer replacement scheduling. In my mind’s eye, he was involved in terrible sort of PCB basting mishap; but of course he’s just doin’ his job. It’s me that’s not doing mine. I’m surprised he didn’t scold me for being idle, while he was laboring so steadily, and on a Saturday, yet. Something in my expression counseled the wisdom of taciturnity to him, and the efficacy of remaining in a bucket well overhead, perhaps.

You– you got what I need. In the name of all that’s right and holy, turn it back…

Ah there it is. Everything’s beeping now. Me too.