Something hates my guts.

But fortunately, having hated, twisted guts was a late-breaking development in an otherwise lovely (though cold, cold, pit of hell cold) day.

If you haven't read it yet, take a look at Patrick Süskind's gorgeous Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (1986). It consumed my afternoon.

Now I must become the horizontal version of myself, in the hopes that this time tomorrow will find me more fit for these keys.