The city's on fire.
After a summer storm, when the sun comes blazing out of hiding, a smoky steam dances eerily from the tar and shingles. I drove through it slowly, blocks and blocks of smouldering streets and rooftops. Weather armageddon.

Hab' 'nen Luftballon gefunden
Denk' an Dich und la§' ihn fliegen

Big fuzzy bumblebees crash into the dining room windows all day long. Sometimes I find their lifeless bodies on the office floor, as if they were somehow born straight from the walls into the flowerless tomb that is my third bedroom. It's really springtime now.