Yesterday was perfectly, entirely wretched, a day with no hope of redemption. A day that batters my bones to pulp. And I am better off not speaking of it so soon. But I have a photograph that manages to sum of the ugliness and despair of yesterday and also the ugliness and despair of what Rhode Island has instead of spring. The only thing I find especially heartening right now is the news that Ava DuVernay's bastardization of A Wrinkle in Time is a box-office bomb. There is still some small measure of justice in the world. And the book survives. Later, Aunt Beast 6:32 p.m.