Exhale the fury. My friends, it’s time to join humanity again.
There’s a fly in the blades, in the grass. Persistent little bastard, drunkenly buzzing by my big toe. Always there. Always different. Always dying. Flying and flying and flying.
There’s been a fly in the blades, the grass. I keep seeing him and he keeps seeing me; this much I know.
There’s a great big fly in the blades of grass and he keeps reminding me of how fast my stash turns to empty bags of residual cash and cold sweats, alas.
What can I do about a fly in the grass?