Sketchbook's hemorrhaging...in desperate need of a tourniquet or duct tape. Gas Express started up just before 7am, beating my alarm by minutes but bested by the roosters. Hundreds of roosters. My neighbor's duck is quacking and a collectivo just drove by. Guinness is sitting on the tiny balcony outside my studio barking at the passerby walking to work or buying pan dulces across the street. Looking east towards Morelia, the mountain is being swallowed by an enormous cloud and the morning's kitchen fires make the whole world smell like piñón. My feet are cold, so I'm headed downstairs for socks, more coffee, and if I have change...maybe a sensible donut.
