The afternoon rain today smelled so deeply of the angels share. It was an interesting mix of pleasant with the unpleasant damp soaking as I walked to a late lunch today. Old histories describe the smell of this city that way, that even on an ugly rainy day there's a weird sort of pleasant ring at the back of the nose. It's nice to have that back, I suppose.
Smeap is the honk of a flamingo. Smeap was also at least once, a storybook land at the weird intersection of TV ads and the worlds they seem to inhabit. It was a place where wars were fought over sodas, and talking polar bears had very good reasons to guard soda machines. It was a place where rainbow color candies were harvested for electric power. It was a place where a prairie dog might move to big city inhabited mostly by Pink Flamingos to follow her dream to be private investigator, only to get slowly entangled in the seedy underbelly of crime and prohibited soda trading of the Neon Flamingos and their syndicate. Social media at times lately feels like it has become almost entirely seedy underbelly with very little upside. Maybe it needs more storybook worlds.