Not Doing Shit Until Gold Starts Popping Off

Day 3 at Cade de Fly and still no water to speak of. Well, technically speaking, I can enjoy the comforts of only cold water — but then I need to go downstairs into the grim cellar and fish the water out of the run off pan. I do this with a white plastic cup into a red bucket, and then dump it into the sink. The new water heater has been delivered and very soon the plumber will sashay into the house, fantastically, and pull out his wrench and tighten all of the bolts, fasten all of the wires, and connect all of the pipes to provide House Fly with an endless flow of contaminated water, heavy with minerals and lead — because the Trenton Water Works board is heavy with cromagnons who don’t know the first thing about managing a water supply.

As I wait, the sounds of Glen Gray echo throughout the house and my fucking dogs bark, intermittently at random objects seen in the distance. Nothing today has encouraged me to make changes, so I’m sitting pat — on my hands, waiting for gold to bust loose higher — cracking jaws and spines clean off the bodies of bears.