You are the wind, and I’m sick of you. It’s been weeks now of flying umbrellas and palm fronds of doom. All that blowing us off the beach and upturning the water so it’s still at wintertime temps in May. Stop the gusts that shove my light automobile into the next lane on the freeway. Enough already with this kite weather!
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to
le*****@oc******.com
.
