Scrumdiddlyumptious mochi prevents early morning disaster.

    Sat down in the wet grass opened his sandwich bag, Ted gave him a look, Lucky was like "wut ?" Ted pointed no where in particular and... "you know if you'd get here earlier you wouldn't have'ta be out in that heat."  Lucky took a bite of his delicious egg sandwich, chewed, and slurped his iced tea.  "Look at Garcia, he gets here so early he's usually gone before ya even leave your apartment."  Lucky looked in his bag for a treat, the egg sandwich came with a treat.  Ted shouts down to Garcia  "Garcia what time cha get here." "Early" Garcia shouts back walking down the side of the shed to his first call.  Ted looked up at pyramid five, the irrigation was shutting off from the top terrace to the bottom terraces in sequence - a mildly interesting event.  The last bit shut off and he assumed an unfocused, and slightly over dramatic pose, " you've always been like this, so I should get used to it.  If it doesn't bug you - it should't bug me."  Lucky had to finish his yummy raspberry mochi and fully recover from it's effects before he could answer - "Yep... I'm fine with it, it's not as good as second shift, but it's less hectic than driving that rig around in the morning rush."  He sat there for hour or more moving down the side of the grass covered shed just enough to keep out of the sun,  going in to hang out on the dock after the shade ran completely out, thankfully Ted was called up, and finally he was the only one left.  Just as he was getting hungry, and about to break into his lunch, he was called up.

Morning rush at the agropolis.

  A warm wind blew through the wall of open, over head, glass doors and through lobby, bringing with it the smell of thousands of people going about their early morning habituation;  the red sun lurking over the misty horizon, sending a beam through the short strait street he was heading for; an early pod of over head seeders lumbering out of a shed, humming and clicking down the street into that misty sun beam -  he stepped over the thresh hold, and a warm dank morning tried pinning him down with that widening beam of stellar light, the premonition of heat, a hypnotic fulcrum, probing.  It wasn't a long walk, and he was soon at his building.  He checked with the dispatcher, threw his lunch box and thermos in his rig, and left before his maintenance technician could give him the business over his alleged mistreatment of the equipment.  Four little shops infest the front of his shed, and one of them was a decent place for breakfast, there's always a line at the window, and a wait for one of the ten stools is out of the question.  He bought his egg sandwich and ice tea and walked up the grassy side of the shed to sit on the roof with the rest of the operators.

a regular festival of the hot happy stinks

  Two hundred yards down the main hall, lines had formed in front of a cluster of elevators.  A noisy talkative crowd going to work as slowly as they could, slurping morning drinks made at the Steam Engine, his floors cafe.  Lucky didn't usually make his presence known at that establishment,  he would always head up to the Kings Chair, the bistro at the top of the building.  The cool breeze is delightful, and views were the best, the staff made the most of it by screwing down each chair in position, giving every person an unimpaired view out over the grand prairie.  The Steam Engine was always a chaotic mess full of loud families, student study groups, and inebriated coffee drinkers - a regular festival of the hot happy stinks, playing the latest funked up rhythm of flu, for the enjoyment of the twenty eighth floor.  He could still hear a drunken party left over from the night before, it sounded like Wade, Jen, and L.J. slurring out a song and playing badly tuned instruments.  fairly certain they were using his small acoustic bass, and briefly considered walking down there and snatching it back, but that was to much, so he went over to the man lifts and caught a bucket going down.

Getting up early, and it's already hot.

   Sometime in the middle of the night the ceiling fan put a chill on to him like a cold wet wind; and then he woke sweaty on the bare mattress, with the sheets bundled up off to the side, his head stuck to the pillow and the fan spinning out bad breath.   Sat up, on the edge of that that swampy nest, looking out the fogged up window into the fogged up world, the Sun still thirty minuets to the east, a full Moon making its best attempt at daylight.  The Moon is always in competition with the sun, but never does even come close in the race to illuminate; the Sun will boast on its win by showing off it's power in the visible light category,demonstrating at the same time that it can do much more, and will pour on the heat, just to make that point stick.  Detaching from the bed he went over to his dresser and felt around in the moon light for all the right clothes.   The air kicked on for a bit, made his bowl of cold cereal, went to the bathroom, opened the fridge, grabbed a can of pop, a thermos,cold cuts,cheese,pear - and fled the apartment.

This make me feel dirty

Louis Lozowick had started this as a bright,clean, and inviting artwork for the company calender.  He evedenly left this piece over night at the site, and came back the next morning to this gritty crud all over his drawing.  

Dear Santa, I would like an Aztec calender stone.

Who ever's going to get that gift is going to get a Christmas morning surprise from Diburros Braga.