I woke up early this morning, made a pot of coffee for myself and the wife, and had an old Southern drama for breakfast. In the intro, Thomas Lanier Williams wrote: “Personal lyricism is the outcry of prisoner to prisoner from the cell in solitary where each is confined for the duration of his life.”
Very rarely, very randomly, like one monkey of the seven hundred kissed by a muse, I can also vomit up the dark truth.
The truth is Coffee. Any of you theater types want to have a go at it?