Happy Monday in bloody bloody bloody Ameriker. I’m on the writerspace blue velvet couch, decked out in soft clothes and bare feet. The music is queued (Elvis Costello, era-appropriate), as are the lemon water and chamo-mint tea and black sesame rice crackers. The beztie (B) is on high alert. The heart is duly on the mend. The FBI is on the job, technically at least, and the bloodbath of these allegedly united states has distracted me long enough. It’s time to delve into the final section of this book, and all excuses are hereby rendered moot. (NB: This honestly could take another eight weeks.) If all goes well, I’ll be quieter here this week as I delve deep. Wish me luck and I’ll wish you luck right back.