That’s why Monday, when it sees me comingPablo Neruda
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.
On Sunday’s walk, according to the spy app on my iPhone, I took 10,315 steps and strolled 4.2 miles up and down the alleys and sidewalks between Frankfort Avenue and Quarry Street. From the previous Monday to Sunday my 7-day total was 77,147 steps, 30.1 miles. Ain’t surveillance technology wonderful?
Note: I removed and replaced the selfie/not a selfie I originally posted (me feeling pretty in my Big Smith overalls, taken by Mrs. Dr. Omed) because I realized I had already posted it at the end of January. Oops.