Handbill Handout

 I have been having a recurring nightmare where I'm caught somewhere, usually outdoors, definitely far from home, NOT naked like the stereotypical nightmare everyone has....just.....barefoot. Also in this nightmare, the foot that is now and forever missing a toe has that toe again, except that it hangs like a small bag with a rock in in it and flops around as I walk, completely out of my control.  Or sometimes it retracts into my foot.  Whatever it does, I know that it absolutely does not belong there and I have a mounting sense of panic that I need to get rid of it.   At that point I'm transported to a crowded workspace or restaurant or some other place where it's difficult to move around because of the press of people but somehow one of my mounting army of dead family members finds me and drags me to a table where other people are, people who want to talk to me.  I don't want to see them.  I argue and berate the people who are trying to get to me....

 It's not Monday Night Football or Hockey Night in Canada but it is my new Pandemic-End Days pastime.  Friday Night Shopping.  For the first three weeks after, as Arlo Guthrie might have said, we were successfully injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected we went to the shiny new Shop Rite in our area.  That Shop Rite is in a location previously occupied by a combination Path Mark and K-Mart that included one of those excellent "restaurants" with the particle board booths and the hot dogs of indeterminate age on rollers and the knock-off Slurpee brand "Icee" which means it was exactly where any self respecting lower-middle class nine year old would want to eat while mom listened for the Blue Light Specials.   So in other words, a Shop Rite aspiring to be a Wegman's would have some good mojo from the spirits in that particular location. Since variety is the spice of life we're going to change it up tonight and go to the Stop 'n...