The prospect of death concentrates the mind wonderfully

There is a first time for everything, and today I got to see Duncan actually turn down a double double and maple dip at Tim Horton's. He said he was afraid he'd throw it up (it's not like I haven't seen him vomit before). Instead he drank a "steeped" tea very slowly and ate an unglazed sour cream doughnut. I think we're going to be stuck eating dinner, or a facsimile thereof, at Tim Hortons. April's supposed to come by once she's soundchecked. The accountant with the moustache was in here, too. He got a large double double and then rolled up the rim. "Why do I feel like such a loser?" he said plaintively as he threw away the "please play again" cup. Then he walked away, saying, "I have no home," to no-one in particular.
"I guess he really is a loser, Duncan," I said, pulling his other, unrolled, cup out of the trash. I rolled the rim, and sure enough, I'd just won a coffee.
It's weirdly cold for April. We had a frost warning last night. Charles Wallace said it was a sign, but my mother said it's only a sign that the climate's getting screwed up. I think she's reading the latest David Suzuki book again. The world is collapsing: I've been telling my parents that for years.