This morning downtown smelled like a lit fuse.

After lunch I went back to find more monarchs. They were keeping company with one raggedy-looking Common Buckeye. A monarch almost flew into my face. I watched it shove its proboscis into every single bloom. I considered staying there all day.

Wikipedia disambiguates firefox from foxfire. This irritates me more than it should.

I may change my name to Dirge Foxfire and start wearing all black. Soon after, me and my drum machine Phalanx will start a band to broadcast the coming of the end. Only the people who matter will hear our message, of course. Later I will begin to glow as my corporeal presence slowly fades.

Lit fuse smell caused by three-alarm fire.