There's a tiny jumping spider on this desk, skittering about the iBook as I type.
To my surprise I actually like Autocrat coffee milk. I had my first glass last night, and was fully prepared to discover it wasn't what Nebari like best. I found the flavour to be more nutty than coffee, which is good, as I don't especially like coffee. I may take a bottle of the syrup home to Atlanta.
Yesterday was mostly down-time. I realized we'd been going full tilt since we got off the train on the 24th, and really since we left the apartment on the 23rd (and actually since we started packing on the 22nd, says Spooky). We were both pretty much out of steam. I napped, ate, and read from Spike Walker's Working on the Edge (a book on king-crab fishing in Alaska) and also read August Derleth's 1971 story, "Innsmouth Clay" (I don't usually bother with Derleth, and this story wasn't one of his better "collaborations," but I was in the mood for something Lovecrafty and it was at hand).
Last night, we drove down to Scarborough and Point Judith, watching the yellow-orange moon, one night past full, rise over the sea. The evening was filled with the thunder of fireworks, and I imagined the sound wasn't that different from the report of revolutionary war cannons.